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PUBLISHED   BY 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


OH,   MONEY!   MONEY!     Illustrated. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING.     Illustrated. 

JUST  DAVID.     Illustrated. 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 


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I  WAS  THINKING  —  OF  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

(Page  274) 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

ELEANOR  H.  PORTER 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

<£ambrit>0e 


COPYRIGHT,   lQl8,   BY  ELEANOR  H.  PORTER 
ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  March  iQi8 


To 

MY  FRIEND 
EVA  BAKER 


2075579 


CONTENTS 

I.  EXIT  MB.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 1 

II.  ENTER  MB.  JOHN  SMITH 18 

III.  THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE      ....  30 

IV.  IN  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES 43 

V.  IN  Miss  FLORA'S  ALBUM .  54 

VI.  POOB  MAGGIE 66 

VII.  POOB  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

VIII.  A  SANTA  CLAUS  HELD  UP 

IX.  "DEAB  COUSIN  STANLEY" 

X.  WHAT  DOES  IT  MATTER? 

XI.  SANTA  CLAUS  ARRIVES 

XII.  THE  TOYS  RATTLE  our 

XIII.  THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

XIV.  FROM  ME  TO  You  WITH  LOVE       .... 

XV.  IN  SEARCH  OF  BEST 185 

XVI.  THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 199 

XVII.  AN  AMBASSADOR  OF  CUPID'S 215 

XVIII.  JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 228 

XIX.  STILL  OTHER  FLIES 241 

vii 


CONTENTS 

XX.  FRANKENSTEIN:  BEING  A  LETTER  FROM  JOHN  SMITH 

TO  EDWARD  D.  NORTON,  ATTORNEY  AT  LAW    .      .251 

XXI.  SYMPATHIES  MISPLACED 255 

XXII.  WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 265 

XXIII.  REFLECTIONS  —  MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE     .      .  280 

XXIV.  THAT  MISERABLE  MONEY 292 

XXV.  EXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 302 

XXVI.  REENTER  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON  .  315 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"I  WAS  THINKING  —  OF  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON"  Frontispiece 
"I  CAN'T  HELP  IT,  AUNT  MAGGIE.    I'VE  JUST  GOT  TO  BE 

AWAY!" 90 

"JiM,  YOU'LL  HAVE  TO  COME!" 166 

"AND  LOOK  INTO  THOSE  BLESSED  CHILDREN'S  FACES "    .         .   230 
From  drawings  by  Mrs.  Howard  B.  Grose,  Jr. 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

CHAPTER  I 

EXIT   MR.    STANLEY   G.    FULTON 

THERE  was  a  thoughtful  frown  on  the  face  of  the  man 
who  was  the  possessor  of  twenty  million  dollars.  He 
was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  a  fringe  of  reddish-brown 
hair  encircling  a  bald  spot.  His  blue  eyes,  fixed  just 
now  in  a  steady  gaze  upon  a  row  of  ponderous  law 
books  across  the  room,  were  friendly  and  benevolent 
in  direct  contradiction  to  the  bulldog,  never-let-go 
fighting  qualities  of  the  square  jaw  below  the  firm, 
rather  thin  lips. 

The  lawyer,  a  youthfully  alert  man  of  sixty  years, 
trimly  gray  as  to  garb,  hair,  and  mustache,  sat  idly 
watching  him,  yet  with  eyes  that  looked  so  intently 
that  they  seemed  to  listen. 

For  fully  five  minutes  the  two  men  had  been  pull 
ing  at  their  cigars  in  silence  when  the  millionaire 
spoke. 

"Ned,  what  am  I  going  to  do  with  my  money?" 

Into  the  lawyer's  listening  eyes  flashed,  for  a  mo 
ment,  the  keenly  scrutinizing  glance  usually  reserved 
for  the  witness  on  the  other  side.  Then  quietly  came 
the  answer. 

"Spend  it  yourself,  I  hope  —  for  some  years  to 
come,  Stanley." 

1 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  was  guilty  of  a  shrug  and 
an  uplifted  eyebrow. 

"Thanks.  Very  pretty,  and  I  appreciate  it,  of 
course.  But  I  can't  wear  but  one  suit  of  clothes  at 
a  time,  nor  eat  but  one  dinner  —  which,  by  the  way, 
just  now  consists  of  somebody's  health  biscuit  and 
hot  water.  Twenty  millions  don't  really  what  you 
might  call  melt  away  at  that  rate." 

The  lawyer  frowned. 

"Shucks,  Fulton!"  he  expostulated,  with  an  irri 
table  twist  of  his  hand.  "I  thought  better  of  you  than 
that.  This  poor  rich  man's  'one-suit,  one-dinner,  one- 
bed-at-a-time'  hard-luck  story  doesn't  suit  your  style. 
Better  cut  it  out!" 

"All  right.  Cut  it  is."  The  man  smiled  good-humor- 
edly.  "But  you  see  I  was  nettled.  You  did  n't  get 
me  at  all.  I  asked  you  what  was  to  become  of  my 
money  after  I  'd  done  spending  it  myself  —  the  little 
that  is  left,  of  course." 

Once  more  from  the  lawyer's  eyes  flashed  that 
keenly  scrutinizing  glance. 

"What  was  it,  Fulton?  A  midnight  rabbit,  or  a 
wedge  of  mince  pie  not  like  mother  used  to  make? 
Why,  man  alive,  you're  barely  over  fifty,  yet.  Cheer 
up!  It's  only  a  little  matter  of  indigestion.  There 
are  a  lot  of  good  days  and  good  dinners  coining  to 
you,  yet." 

The  millionaire  made  a  wry  face. 

"Very  likely  —  if  I  survive  the  biscuits.  But,  seri 
ously,  Ned,  I'm  in  earnest.  No,  I  don't  think  I'm 
going  to  die  —  yet  awhile.  But  I  ran  across  young 
Bixby  last  night  —  got  him  home,  in  fact.  Delivered 

2 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

him  to  his  white-faced  little  wife.    Talk  about  your 
maudlin  idiots!" 

"Yes,  I  know.   Too  bad,  too  bad!" 

"Hm-m;  well,  that's  what  one  million  did  —  in 
herited.  It  set  me  to  thinking  —  of  mine,  when  I  get 
through  with  them." 

"I  see."  The  lawyer's  lips  came  together  a  little 
grimly.  "You've  not  made  your  will,  I  believe." 

"No.  Dreaded  it,  somehow.  Funny  how  a  man '11 
fight  shy  of  a  little  thing  like  that,  is  n't  it?  And 
when  we're  so  mighty  particular  where  it  goes  while 
we're  living!" 

"Yes,  I  know;  you're  not  the  only  one.  You  have 
relatives  —  somewhere,  I  surmise." 

"Nothing  nearer  than  cousins,  third  or  fourth,  back 
East.  They'd  get  it,  I  suppose  —  without  a  will." 

"Why  don't  you  marry?" 

The  millionaire  repeated  the  wry  face  of  a  moment 
before. 

"I'm  not  a  marrying  man.  I  never  did  care  much 
for  women;  and  —  I'm  not  fool  enough  to  think  that 
a  woman  would  be  apt  to  fall  in  love  with  my  bald 
head.  Nor  am  I  obliging  enough  to  care  to  hand  the 
millions  over  to  the  woman  that  falls  in  love  with 
them.,  taking  me  along  as  the  necessary  sack  that 
holds  the  gold.  If  it  comes  to  that,  I'd  rather  risk 
the  cousins.  They,  at  least,  are  of  my  own  blood,  and 
they  did  n't  angle  to  get  the  money." 

"You  know  them?" 

"Never  saw  'em." 

"Why  not  pick  out  a  bunch  of  colleges  and  endow 
them?" 

3 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

The  millionaire  shook  his  head. 

"Does  n't  appeal  to  me,  somehow.  Oh,  of  course  it 
ought  to,  but  —  it  just  does  n't.  That 's  all.  Maybe 
if  I  was  a  college  man  myself;  but  —  well,  I  had  to 
dig  for  what  education  I  got." 

"Very  well  —  charities,  then.  There  are  number 
less  organizations  that — "  He  stopped  abruptly  at 
the  other's  uplifted  hand. 

"Organizations!  Good  Heavens,  I  should  think 
there  were!  I  tried  'em  once.  I  got  that  philanthropic 
bee  in  my  bonnet,  and  I  gave  thousands,  tens  of 
thousands  to  'em.  Then  I  got  to  wondering  where 
the  money  went." 

Unexpectedly  the  lawyer  chuckled. 

"You  never  did  like  to  invest  without  investigat 
ing,  Fulton,"  he  observed. 

With  only  a  shrug  for  an  answer  the  other  plunged 
on. 

"Now,  understand.  I'm  not  saying  that  organ 
ized  charity  is  n't  all  right,  and  does  n't  do  good,  of 
course.  Neither  am  I  prepared  to  propose  anything 
to  take  its  place.  And  maybe  the  two  or  three  I 
dealt  with  were  particularly  addicted  to  the  sort  of 
thing  I  objected  to.  But,  honestly,  Ned,  if  you  'd 
lost  heart  and  friends  and  money,  and  were  just 
ready  to  chuck  the  whole  shooting-match,  how  would 
you  like  to  become  a  'Case,'  say,  number  twenty- 
three  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-one,  ticketed 
and  docketed,  and  duly  apportioned  off  to  a  six-by- 
nine  rule  of  'do  this'  and  'do  that,'  while  a  dozen 
spectacled  eyes  watched  you  being  cleaned  up  and 
regulated  and  wound  up  with  a  key  made  of  just  so 

4 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

much  and  no  more  pats  and  preachments  carefully 
weighed  and  labeled?   How  would  you  like  it?" 

The  lawyer  laughed. 

"I  know;  but,  my  dear  fellow,  what  would  you 
have?  Surely,  unorganized  charity  and  promiscuous 
giving  is  worse  — " 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  tried  that  way,  too,"  shrugged  the 
other.  "There  was  a  time  when  every  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry,  with  a  run-down  shoe  and  a  ragged  coat,  could 
count  on  me  for  a  ten-spot  by  just  holding  out  his 
hand,  no  questions  asked.  Then  a  serious-eyed  little 
woman  sternly  told  me  one  day  that  the  indiscrim 
inate  charity  of  a  millionaire  was  not  only  a  curse 
to  any  community,  but  a  corruption  to  the  whole 
state.  I  believe  she  kindly  included  the  nation,  as 
well,  bless  her!  And  I  thought  I  was  doing  good!" 

"What  a  blow  —  to  you!"  There  was  a  whimsical 
smile  in  the  lawyer's  eyes. 

"It  was."  The  millionaire  was  not  smiling.  "But 
she  was  right.  It  set  me  to  thinking,  and  I  began  to 
follow  up  those  ten-spots  —  the  ones  that  I  could 
trace.  Jove!  what  a  mess  I'd  made  of  it!  Oh,  some 
of  them  were  all  right,  of  course,  and  I  made  those  fif 
ties  on  the  spot.  But  the  others  — !  I  tell  you,  Ned, 
money  that  is  n't  earned  is  the  most  risky  thing  in 
the  world.  If  I'd  left  half  those  wretches  alone, 
they'd  have  braced  up  and  helped  themselves  and 
made  men  of  themselves,  maybe.  As  it  was  —  Well, 
you  never  can  tell  as  to  the  results  of  a  so-called 
'good'  action.  From  my  experience  I  should  say 
they  are  every  whit  as  dangerous  as  the  bad  ones." 

The  lawyer  laughed  outright. 

5 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,  that's  just  where  the  organ 
ized  charity  comes  in.  Don't  you  see?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  —  Case  number  twenty-three 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-one !  And  that 's 
all  right,  of  course.  Relief  of  some  sort  is  absolutely 
necessary.  But  I'd  like  to  see  a  little  warm  sym 
pathy  injected  into  it,  some  way.  Give  the  machine 
a  heart,  say,  as  well  as  hands  and  a  head." 

"Then  why  don't  you  try  it  yourself?" 

"Not  I!"  His  gesture  of  dissent  was  emphatic. 
"I  have  tried  it,  in  a  way,  and  failed.  That's  why 
I'd  like  some  one  else  to  tackle  the  job.  And  that 
brings  me  right  back  to  my  original  question.  I'm 
wondering  what  my  money  will  do,  when  I'm  done 
with  it.  I'd  like  to  have  one  of  my  own  kin  have  it 
-  if  I  was  sure  of  him.  Money  is  a  queer  proposition, 
Ned,  and  it's  capable  of  -  -  'most  anything." 

"It  is.   You 're  right." 

"What  I  can  do  with  it,  and  what  some  one  else 
can  do  with  it,  are  two  quite  different  matters.  I 
don't  consider  my  efforts  to  circulate  it  wisely,  or 
even  harmlessly,  exactly  what  you'd  call  a  howling 
success.  Whatever  I've  done,  I've  always  been  criti 
cized  for  not  doing  something  else.  If  I  gave  a  costly 
entertainment,  I  was  accused  of  showy  ostentation. 
If  I  did  n't  give  it,  I  was  accused  of  not  putting  money 
into  honest  circulation.  If  I  donated  to  a  church,  it 
was  called  conscience  money;  and  if  I  did  n't  donate 
to  it,  they  said  I  was  mean  and  miserly.  So  much  for 
what  7've  done.  I  was  just  wondering  —  what  the 
other  fellow 'd  do  with  it." 

"Why  worry?   T  won't  be  your  fault." 

6 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

"But  it  will  —  if  I  give  it  to  him.  Great  Scott,  Ned! 
Think  what  money  does  for  folks,  sometimes  —  folks 
that  are  n't  used  to  it !  Look  at  Bixby ;  and  look  at 
that  poor  little  Marston  girl,  throwing  herself  away 
on  that  worthless  scamp  of  a  Go  wing  who's  only 
after  her  money,  as  everybody  (but  herself)  knows! 
And  if  it  does  n't  make  knaves  and  martyrs  of  them, 
ten  to  one  it  does  make  fools  of  'em.  They're 
worse  than  a  kid  with  a  dollar  on  circus  day;  and 
they  use  just  about  as  much  sense  spending  their 
pile,  too.  You  should  have  heard  dad  tell  about  his 
pals  in  the  eighties  that  struck  it  rich  in  the  gold 
mines.  One  bought  up  every  grocery  store  in  town 
and  instituted  a  huge  free  grab-bag  for  the  popu 
lace;  and  another  dropped  his  hundred  thousand  in 
the  dice  box  before  it  was  a  week  old.  I  wonder  what 
those  cousins  of  mine  back  East  are  like!" 

"If  you're  fearful,  better  take  Case  number 
twenty-three  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-one," 
smiled  the  lawyer. 

"Hm-m;  I  suppose  so,"  ejaculated  the  other  grimly, 
getting  to  his  feet.  "Well,  I  must  be  off.  It's  biscuit 
time,  I  see." 

A  moment  later  the  door  of  the  lawyer's  sumptu 
ously  appointed  office  closed  behind  him.  Not  twenty- 
four  hours  afterward,  however,  it  opened  to  admit  him 
again.  He  was  alert,  eager-eyed,  and  smiling.  He 
looked  ten  years  younger.  Even  the  office  boy  who 
ushered  him  in  cocked  a  curious  eye  at  him. 

The  man  at  the  great  flat-topped  desk  gave  a  sur 
prised  ejaculation. 

"Hullo,  Fulton!   Those   biscuits   must  be   agree- 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

ing  with  you,"  he  laughed.    "Mind  telling  me  their 
name?" 

"Ned,  I  Ve  got  a  scheme.  I  think  I  can  carry  it  out." 
Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  strode  across  the  room  and 
dropped  himself  into  the  waiting  chair.  "Remember 
those  cousins  back  East?  Well,  I'm  going  to  find  out 
which  of  'em  I  want  for  my  heir."j 

"Another  case  of  investigating  before  investing, 
eh?"? 

"Exactly." 

"Well,  that's  like  you.  What  is  it,  a  little  detective 
work?  Going  to  get  acquainted  with  them,  I  suppose, 
and  see  how  they  treat  you.  Then  you  can  size  them 
up  as  to  hearts  and  habits,  and  drop  the  golden  plum 
into  the  lap  of  the  worthy  man,  eh?" 

"Yes,  and  no.  But  not  the  way  you  say.  I'm  going 
to  give  'em  say  fifty  or  a  hundred  thousand  apiece, 
and—" 

"Give  it  to  them  —  now  ?" 

"Sure!  How  'm  I  going  to  know  how  they'll  spend 
money  till  they  have  it  to  spend?" 

"I  know;  but— " 

"Oh,  I've  planned  all  that.  Don't  worry.  Of  course 
you'll  have  to  fix  it  up  for  me.  I  shall  leave  instruc 
tions  with  you,  and  when  the  time  comes  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  carry  them  out." 

The  lawyer  came  erect  in  his  chair. 

"Leave  instructions!  But  you,  yourself  —  ?"  ' 

"Oh,  I'm  going  to  be  there,  in  Hillerton.". 

"There?  Hillerton?" 

VYes,  where  the  cousins  live,  you  know.  Of  course 
I  want  to  see  how  it  works." 

8 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON  ' 

"Humph!  I  suppose  you  think  you'll  find  out  — 
with  you  watching  their  every  move!"  The  lawyer 
had  settled  back  in  his  chair,  an  ironical  smile  on  his 
lips. 

"Oh,  they  won't  know  me,  of  course,  except  as  John 
Smith." 

"John  Smith!"  The  lawyer  was  sitting  erect  again. 

"Yes.  I'm  going  to  take  that  name  —  for  a  time." 

"Nonsense,  Fulton!  Have  you  lost  your  senses?" 

"No."  The  millionaire  still  smiled  imperturbably. 
"Really,  my  dear  Ned,  I'm  disappointed  in  you.  You 
don't  seem  to  realize  the  possibilities  of  this  thing." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  —  perhaps  better  than  you,  old  man," 
retorted  the  other  with  an  expressive  glance. ' 

"Oh,  come,  Ned,  listen!  I've  got  three  cousins  in 
Hillerton.  I  never  saw  them,  and  they  never  saw  me. 
I'm  going  to  give  them  a  tidy  little  sum  of  money 
apiece,  and  then  have  the  fun  of  watching  them  spend 
it.  Any  harm  in  that,  especially  as  it's  no  one's  busi 
ness  what  I  do  with  my  money?" 

"N-no,  I  suppose  not  —  if  you  can  carry  such  a 
wild  scheme  through." 

"I  can,  I  think.  I'm  going  to  be  John  Smith." 

"Nice  distinctive  name!" 

"I  chose  a  colorless  one  on  purpose.  I'm  going  to 
be  a  colorless  person,  you  see." 

"Oh!  And  —  er  —  do  you  think  Mr.  Stanley  G. 
Fulton,  multi-millionaire,  with  his  pictured  face  in 
half  the  papers  and  magazines  from  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Pacific,  can  hide  that  face  behind  a  colorless  John 
Smith?" 

"Maybe  not.  But  he  can  hide  it  behind  a  nice  little 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

close-cropped  beard."  The  millionaire  stroked  his 
smooth  chin  reflectively. 

"Humph!  How  large  is  Hillerton?" 

"Eight  or  ten  thousand.  Nice  little  New  England 
town,  I'm  told." 

"Hm-m.  And  your  —  er  —  business  in  Hillerton, 
that  will  enable  you  to  be  the  observing  fly  on  your 
cousins'  walls?" 

"Yes,  I've  thought  that  all  out,  too;  and  that's 
another  brilliant  stroke.  I  'm  going  to  be  a  genealogist. 
I  'm  going  to  be  at  work  tracing  the  Blaisdell  family  — 
their  name  is  Blaisdell.  I'm  writing  a  book  which 
necessitates  the  collection  of  an  endless  amount  of 
data.  Now  how  about  that  fly's  chances  of  observa 
tion.  Eh?" 

"Mighty  poor,  if  he's  swatted  —  and  that's  what 
he  will  be!  New  England  housewives  are  death  on 
flies,  I  understand." 

"Well,  I'll  risk  this  one." 

"You  poor  fellow!"  There  were  exasperation  and 
amusement  in  the  lawyer's  eyes,  but  there  was  only 
mock  sympathy  in  his  voice.  "And  to  think  I've 
known  you  all  these  years,  and  never  suspected  it, 
Fulton!" 

The  man  who  owned  twenty  millions  still  smiled 
imperturbably. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  wrhat  you  mean,  but  I'm  not 
crazy.  And  really  I'm  interested  in  genealogy,  too, 
and  I've  been  thinking  for  some  time  I'd  go  digging 
about  the  roots  of  my  ancestral  tree.  I  have  dug  a 
little,  in  years  gone.  My  mother  was  a  Blaisdell,  you 
know.  Her  grandfather  was  brother  to  some  ancestor 

10 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

of  these  Hillerton  Blaisdells;  and  I  really  am  inter 
ested  in  collecting  Blaisdell  data.  So  that 's  all  straight. 
I  shall  be  telling  no  fibs.  And  think  of  the  opportunity 
it  gives  me!  Besides,  I  shall  try  to  board  with  one  of 
them.  I've  decided  that." 

"Upon  my  word,  a  pretty  little  scheme!" 

"Yes,  I  knew  you'd  appreciate  it,  the  more  you 
thought  about  it."  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton's  blue  eyes 
twinkled  a  little. 

With  a  disdainful  gesture  the  lawyer  brushed  this 
aside. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  how  you  happened  to 
think  of  it,  yourself?" 

"Not  a  bit.  'T  was  a  little  booklet  got  out  by  a 
Trust  Company." 

"It  sounds  like  it!" 

"Oh,  they  didn't  suggest  exactly  this,  I'll  admit; 
but  they  did  suggest  that,  if  you  were  fearful  as  to  the 
way  your  heirs  would  handle  their  inheritance,  you 
could  create  a  trust  fund  for  their  benefit  while  you 
were  living,  and  then  watch  the  way  the  beneficiaries 
spent  the  income,  as  well  as  the  way  the  trust  fund 
itself  was  managed.  In  this  way  you  could  observe 
the  effects  of  your  gifts,  and  at  the  same  time  be  able 
to  change  them  if  you  did  n't  like  results.  That  gave 
me  an  idea.  I've  just  developed  it.  That's  all.  I'm 
going  to  make  my  cousins  a  little  rich,  and  see  which, 
if  any  of  them,  can  stand  being  very  rich." 

"But  the  money,  man!  How  are  you  going  to  drop 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  into  three  men's  laps,  and 
expect  to  get  away  without  an  investigation  as  to  the 
why  and  wherefore  of  such  a  singular  proceeding?" 

11 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"That's  where  your  part  comes  in,"  smiled  the  mil 
lionaire  blandly.  "Besides,  to  be  accurate,  one  of  the 
laps  is  —  er  —  a  petticoat  one." 

"Oh,  indeed!   So  much  the  worse,  maybe.   But — 
And  so  this  is  where  I  come  in,  is  it?   Well,  and  sup 
pose  I  refuse  to  come  in?" 

"Regretfully  I  shall  have  to  employ  another  attor 
ney." 

"Humph!  Well?" 

"But  you  won't  refuse."  The  blue  eyes  opposite 
were  still  twinkling.  "In  the  first  place,  you're  my 
good  friend  —  my  best  friend.  You  would  n't  be  seen 
letting  me  start  off  on  a  wild-goose  chase  like  this  with 
out  your  guiding  hand  at  the  helm  to  see  that  I  did  n't 
come  a  cropper." 

"Are  n't  you  getting  your  metaphors  a  trifle  mixed?  " 
This  time  the  lawyer's  eyes  were  twinkling. 

"Eh?  What?  Well,  maybe.  But  I  reckon  you  get 
my  meaning.  Besides,  what  I  want  you  to  do  is  a 
mere  routine  of  regular  business,  with  you." 

"It  sounds  like  it.  Routine,  indeed!" 

"But  it  is  —  your  part.  Listen.  I'm  off  for  South 
America,  say,  on  an  exploring  tour.  In  your  charge  I 
leave  certain  papers  with  instructions  that  on  the  first 
day  of  the  sixth  month  of  my  absence  (I  being  un 
heard  from),  you  are  to  open  a  certain  envelope  and 
act  according  to  instructions  within.  Simplest  thing 
in  the  world,  man.  Now  is  n't  it?" 

"Oh,  very  simple  —  as  you  put  it." 

"Well,  meanwhile  I'll  start  for  South  America  — 
alone,  of  course;  and,  so  far  as  you're  concerned,  that 
ends  it.   If  on  the  way,  somewhere,  I  determine  sud- 

12 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

denly  on  a  change  of  destination,  that  is  none  of  your 
affair.  If,  say  in  a  month  or  two,  a  quiet,  inoffensive 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Smith  arrives  in  Hillerton 
on  the  legitimate  and  perfectly  respectable  business 
of  looking  up  a  family  pedigree,  that  also  is  none  of 
your  concern." 

With  a  sudden  laugh  the  lawyer  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

"By  Jove,  Fulton,  if  I  don't  believe  you'll  pull  this 
absurd  thing  off!" 

"There!  Now  you're  talking  like  a  sensible  man, 
and  we  can  get  somewhere.  Of  course  I'll  pull  it  off! 
Now  here's  my  plan.  In  order  best  to  judge  how  my 
esteemed  relatives  conduct  themselves  under  the  sud 
den  accession  of  wealth,  I  must  see  them  first  without 
it,  of  course.  Hence,  I  plan  to  be  in  Hillerton  some 
months  before  your  letter  and  the  money  arrive.  I 
intend,  indeed,  to  be  on  the  friendliest  terms  with 
every  Blaisdell  in  Hillerton  before  that  times  comes." 

"But  can  you?  Will  they  accept  you  without  refer 
ences  or  introduction?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  have  the  best  of  references  and  intro 
ductions.  Bob  Chalmers  is  the  president  of  a  bank 
there.  Remember  Bob?  Well,  I  shall  take  John  Smith 
in  and  introduce  him  to  Bob  some  day.  After  that, 
Bob '11  introduce  John  Smith?  See?  All  I  need  is  a 
letter  as  to  my  integrity  and  respectability,  I  reckon, 
so  my  kinsmen  won't  suspect  me  of  designs  on  their 
spoons  when  I  ask  to  board  with  them.  You  see,  I  'm 
a  quiet,  retiring  gentleman,  and  I  don't  like  noisy 
hotels." 

With  an  explosive  chuckle  the  lawyer  clapped  his 
knee. 

13 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Fulton,  this  is  absolutely  the  richest  thing  I  ever 
heard  of !  I  'd  give  a  farm  to  be  a  fly  on  your  wall  and 
see  you  do  it.  I  'm  blest  if  I  don't  think  I  '11  go  to  Hil- 
lerton  myself  —  to  see  Bob.  By  George,  I  will  go  and 
see  Bob!" 

"Of  course, "  agreed  the  other  serenely.  "Why  not? 
Besides,  it  will  be  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
—  business,  you  know.  In  fact,  I  should  think  you 
really  ought  to  go,  in  connection  with  the  bequests." 

"Why,  to  be  sure."  The  lawyer  frowned  thought 
fully.  "How  much  are  you  going  to  give  them?" 

"Oh,  a  hundred  thousand  apiece,  I  reckon." 

"That  ought  to  do  —  for  pin  money." 

"Oh,  well,  I  want  them  to  have  enough,  you  know, 
for  it  to  be  a  real  test  of  what  they  would  do  with 
wealth.  And  it  must  be  cash  —  no  securities.  I  want 
them  to  do  their  own  investing." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  fix  it?  What  excuse  are 
you  going  to  give  for  dropping  a  hundred  thousand  into 
their  laps  like  that?  You  can't  tell  your  real  purpose, 
naturally!  You'd  defeat  your  own  ends." 

"That  part  we'll  have  to  fix  up  in  the  letter  of  in 
structions.  I  think  we  can.  I've  got  a  scheme." 

"I'll  warrant  you  have!  I'll  believe  anything  of 
you  now.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  afterward 
-  when  you  've  found  out  what  you  want  to  know, 
I  mean?  Won't  it  be  something  of  a  shock,  when 
John  Smith  turns  into  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton?  Have 
you  thought  of  that?" 

"Y-yes,  I've  thought  of  that,  and  I  will  confess  my 
ideas  are  a  little  hazy,  in  spots.  But  I'm  not  worry 
ing.  Time  enough  to  think  of  that  part.  Roughly, 

14 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

my  plan  is  this  now.  There  '11  be  two  letters  of  instruc 
tions  :  one  to  open  in  six  months,  the  other  to  be  opened 
in,  say,  a  couple  of  years,  or  so.  (I  want  to  give  my 
self  plenty  of  time  for  my  observations,  you  see.)  The 
second  letter  will  really  give  you  final  instructions  as 
to  the  settling  of  my  estate  —  my  will.  I'll  have  to 
make  some  sort  of  one,  I  suppose." 

"But,  good  Heavens,  Stanley,  you  —  you—  '  the 
lawyer  came  to  a  helpless  pause.  His  eyes  were  star 
tled. 

"Oh,  that's  just  for  emergency,  of  course,  in  case 
anything  —  er  —  happened.  What  I  really  intend 
is  that  long  before  the  second  letter  of  instructions 
is  due  to  be  opened,  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  will  come 
back  from  his  South  American  explorations.  He'll 
then  be  in  a  position  to  settle  his  affairs  to  suit  him 
self,  and  —  er  —  make  a  new  will.  Understand?  " 

"Oh,  I  see.  But  —  there's  John  Smith?  How  about 
Smith?" 

The  millionaire  smiled  musingly,  and  stroked  his 
chin  again. 

"Smith?  Oh!  Well,  Smith  will  have  finished  col 
lecting  Blaisdell  data,  of  course,  and  will  be  off  to  parts 
unknown.  We  don't  have  to  trouble  ourselves  with 
Smith  any  longer." 

"Fulton,  you're  a  wizard,"  laughed  the  lawyer. 
"But  now  about  the  cousins.  Who  are  they?  You 
know  their  names,  of  course." 

"Oh,  yes.  You  see  I 've  done  a  little  digging  already 

—  some  years  ago  —  looking  up  the  Blaisdell  family. 

(By  the  way,  that'll  come  in  fine  now,  won't  it?)   And 

an  occasional  letter  from  Bob  has  kept  me  posted 

15 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

as  to  deaths  and  births  in  the  Hillerton  Blaisdells.  I 
always  meant  to  hunt  them  up  some  time,  they  being 
my  nearest  kith  and  kin.  Well,  with  what  I  already 
had,  and  with  what  Bob  has  written  me,  I  know  these 
facts." 

He  paused,  pulled  a  small  notebook  from  his  pocket, 
and  consulted  it. 

"There  are  two  sons  and  a  daughter,  children  of 
Rufus  Blaisdell.  Rufus  died  years  ago,  and  his  widow 
married  a  man  by  the  name  of  Duff.  But  she's  dead 
now.  The  elder  son  is  Frank  Blaisdell.  He  keeps  a 
grocery  store.  The  other  is  James  Blaisdell.  He  works 
in  a  real  estate  office.  The  daughter,  Flora,  never 
married.  She's  about  forty-two  or  three,  I  believe, 
and  does  dressmaking.  James  Blaisdell  has  a  son, 
Fred,  seventeen,  and  two  younger  children.  Frank 
Blaisdell  has  one  daughter,  Mellicent.  That's  the 
extent  of  my  knowledge,  at  present.  But  it's  enough 
for  our  purpose." 

"Oh,  any  thing's  enough  —  for  your  purpose!  What 
are  you  going  to  do  first?" 

"I've  done  it.  You'll  soon  be  reading  in  your  morn 
ing  paper  that  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  the  somewhat 
eccentric  multi-millionaire,  is  about  to  start  for  South 
America,  and  that  it  is  hinted  he  is  planning  to  finance 
a  gigantic  exploring  expedition.  The  accounts  of  what 
he's  going  to  explore  will  vary  all  the  way  from  Inca 
antiquities  to  the  source  of  the  Amazon.  I've  done 
a  lot  of  talking  to-day,  and  a  good  deal  of  cautioning 
as  to  secrecy,  etc.  It  ought  to  bear  fruit  by  to-mor 
row,  or  the  day  after,  at  the  latest.  I'm  going  to  start 
next  week,  and  I  'm  really  going  exploring,  too  — 

16 


EXIT  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

though  not  exactly  as  they  think.  I  came  in  to-day 
to  make  a  business  appointment  for  to-morrow,  please. 
A  man  starting  on  such  a  hazardous  journey  must  be 
prepared,  you  understand.  I  want  to  leave  my  affairs 
in  such  shape  that  you  will  know  exactly  what  to  do 
—  in  emergency.  I  may  come  to-morrow?" 

The  lawyer  hesitated,  his  face  an  odd  mixture  of 
determination  and  irresolution. 

"Oh,  hang  it  all  —  yes.  Of  course  you  may  come. 
To-morrow  at  ten  —  if  they  don't  shut  you  up  before." 

With  a  boyish  laugh  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  leaped 
to  his  feet. 

"Thanks.  To-morrow  at  ten,  then."  At  the  door 
he  turned  back  jauntily.  "And,  say,  Ned,  what '11  you 
bet  I  don't  grow  fat  and  young  over  this  thing?  What  '11 
you  bet  I  don't  get  so  I  can  eat  real  meat  and  'taters 
again?" 


CHAPTER  II 

ENTER   MR.    JOHN   SMITH 

IT  was  on  the  first  warm  evening  in  early  June  that 
Miss  Flora  Blaisdell  crossed  the  common  and  turned 
down  the  street  that  led  to  her  brother  James's  home. 

The  common  marked  the  center  of  Hillerton.  Its 
spacious  green  lawns  and  elm-shaded  walks  were  the 
pride  of  the  town.  There  was  a  trellised  band-stand 
for  summer  concerts,  and  a  tiny  pond  that  accommo 
dated  a  few  boats  in  summer  and  a  limited  number  of 
skaters  in  winter.  Perhaps,  most  important  of  all,  the 
common  divided  the  plebeian  East  Side  from  the  more 
pretentious  West.  James  Blaisdell  lived  on  the  West 
Side.  His  wife  said  that  everybody  did  who  was  any 
body.  They  had  lately  moved  there,  and  were,  in 
deed,  barely  settled. 

Miss  Blaisdell  did  dressmaking.  Her  home  was  a 
shabby  little  rented  cottage  on  the  East  Side.  She  was 
a  thin-faced  little  woman  with  an  anxious  frown  and 
near-sighted,  peering  eyes  that  seemed  always  to  be 
looking  for  wrinkles.  She  peered  now  at  the  houses 
as  she  passed  slowly  down  the  street.  She  had  been 
only  twice  to  her  brother's  new  home,  and  she  was 
not  sure  that  she  would  recognize  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  street  was  still  alight  with  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.  Suddenly  across  her  worried  face  flashed 
a  relieved  smile. 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  all  here  out  on  the  piazza!"  she 

18 


ENTER  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

exclaimed,  turning  in  at  the  walk  leading  up  to 
one  of  the  ornate  little  houses.  "My,  ain't  this 
grand!" 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  grand,  all  right,"  nodded  the  tired- 
looking  man  in  the  big  chair,  removing  his  feet  from 
the  railing.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  was  smok 
ing  a  pipe.  The  droop  of  his  thin  mustache  matched 
the  droop  of  his  thin  shoulders  —  and  both  indefin'- 
ably  but  unmistakably  spelled  disillusion  and  dis 
couragement.  "It's  grand,  but  I  think  it's  too  grand 
—  for  us.  However,  daughter  says  the  best  is  none 
too  good  —  in  Hillerton.  Eh,  Bess?" 

Bessie,  the  pretty,  sixteen-year-old  daughter  of  the 
family,  only  shrugged  her  shoulders  a  little  petulantly. 
It  was  Harriet,  the  wife,  who  spoke  —  a  large,  florid 
woman  with  a  short  upper  lip,  and  a  bewilderment 
of  bepuffed  light  hair.  She  was  already  on  her  feet, 
pushing  a  chair  toward  her  sister-in-law. 

"Of  course  it  is  n't  too  grand,  Jim,  and  you  know 
it.  There  are  n't  any  really  nice  houses  in  Hillerton 
except  the  Pennocks'  and  the  old  Gaylord  place.  There, 
sit  here,  Flora.  You  look  tired." 

"Thanks.  I  be  —  tumble  tired.  Warm,  too,  ain't 
it?"  The  little  dressmaker  began  to  fan  herself  with 
the  hat  she  had  taken  off.  "My,  't  is  fur  over  here, 
ain't  it?  Not  much  like  't  was  when  you  lived  right 
'round  the  corner  from  me !  And  I  had  to  put  on  a  hat 
and  gloves,  too.  Someway,  I  thought  I  ought  to  — 
over  here." 

Condescendingly  the  bepuffed  head  threw  an  ap 
proving  nod  in  her  direction. 

"Quite  right,  Flora.  The  East  Side  is  different  from 

19 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

the  West  Side,  and  no  mistake.  And  what  will  do 
there  won't  do  here  at  all,  of  course." 

"How  about  father's  shirt-sleeves?"  It  was  a  scorn 
ful  gibe  from  Bessie  in  the  hammock.  "I  don't  notice 
any  of  the  rest  of  the  men  around  here  sitting  out  like 
that." 

"Bessie!"  chided  her  mother  wearily.  "You  know 
very  well  I  'm  not  to  blame  for  what  your  father  wears. 
I've  tried  hard  enough,  I'm  sure!" 

"Well,  well,  Hattie,"  sighed  the  man,  with  a  gesture 
of  abandonment.  "I  supposed  I  still  had  the  rights  of 
a  freeborn  American  citizen  in  my  own  home;  but  it 
seems  I  have  n't."  Resignedly  he  got  to  his  feet  and 
went  into  the  house.  \Vhen  he  returned  a  moment 
later  he  was  wearing  his  coat. 

Benny,  perched  precariously  on  the  veranda  railing, 
gave  a  sudden  indignant  snort.  Benny  was  eight,  the 
youngest  of  the  family. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I  like  it  here,  anyhow,"  he 
chafed.  "I'd  rather  go  back  an'  live  where  we  did. 
A  feller  can  have  some  fun  there.  It  has  n't  been  any 
thing  but  'Here,  Benny,  you  mustn't  do  that  over 
here,  you  must  n't  do  that  over  here ! '  ever  since  we 
came.  I'm  going  home  an'  live  with  Aunt  Flora. 
Say,  can't  I,  Aunt  Flo?" 

"Bless  the  child!  Of  course  you  can,"  beamed  his 
aunt.  "But  you  won't  want  to,  I'm  sure.  Why, 
Benny,  I  think  it's  perfectly  lovely  here." 

"Pa  don't." 

"Indeed  I  do,  Benny,"  corrected  his  father  hastily. 
"It's  very  nice  indeed  here,  of  course.  But  I  don't 
think  we  can  afford  it.  We  had  to  squeeze  every 

20 


ENTER  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

penny  before,  and  how  we're  going  to  meet  this  rent 
I  don't  know."  He  drew  a  profound  sigh. 

"You'll  earn  it,  just  being  here  —  more  business," 
asserted  his  wife  firmly.  "Anyhow,  we've  just  got  to 
be  here,  Jim!  We  owe  it  to  ourselves  and  our  family. 
Look  at  Fred  to-night!" 

"Oh,  yes,  where  is  Fred?"  queried  Miss  Flora. 

"He's  over  to  Gussie  Pennock's,  playing  tennis," 
interposed  Bessie,  with  a  pout.  "The  mean  old  thing 
would  n't  ask  me!" 

"But  you  ain't  old  enough,  my  dear,"  soothed  her 
aunt.  "Wait;  your  turn  will  come  by  and  by." 

"Yes,  that's  exactly  it,"  triumphed  the  mother. 
"  Her  turn  will  come  —  if  we  live  here.  Do  you  suppose 
Fred  would  have  got  an  invitation  to  Gussie  Pennock's 
if  we'd  still  been  living  on  the  East  Side?  Not  much 
he  would !  Why,  Mr.  Pennock  's  worth  fifty  thousand, 
if  he's  worth  a  dollar!  They  are  some  of  our  very  first 
people." 

"But,  Hattie,  money  isn't  everything,  dear,"  re 
monstrated  her  husband  gently.  "We  had  friends, 
and  good  friends,  before." 

"Yes;  but  you  wait  and  see  what  kind  of  friends  we 
have  now!" 

"But  we  can't  keep  up  with  such  people,  dear,  on 
our  income;  and  — " 

"Ma,  here's  a  man.  I  guess  he  wants  — somebody." 
It  was  a  husky  whisper  from  Benny. 

James  Blaisdell  stopped  abruptly.  Bessie  Blaisdell 
and  the  little  dressmaker  cocked  their  heads  inter 
estedly.  Mrs.  Blaisdell  rose  to  her  feet  and  advanced 
toward  the  steps  to  meet  the  man  coming  up  the  walk. 

21 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

He  was  a  tall,  rather  slender  man,  with  a  close- 
cropped,  sandy  beard,  and  an  air  of  diffidence  and 
apology.  As  he  took  off  his  hat  and  came  nearer,  it 
was  seen  that  his  eyes  were  blue  and  friendly,  and 
that  his  hair  was  reddish-brown,  and  rather  scanty  on 
top  of  his  head. 

"I  am  looking  for  Mr.  Blaisdell  —  Mr.  James  Blais 
dell,"  he  murmured  hesitatingly. 

Something  in  the  stranger's  deferential  manner 
sent  a  warm  glow  of  importance  to  the  woman's  heart. 
Mrs.  Blaisdell  was  suddenly  reminded  that  she  was 
Mrs.  James  D.  Blaisdell  of  the  West  Side. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Blaisdell,"  she  replied  a  bit  pompously. 
"What  can  we  do  for  you,  my  good  man?"  She 
swelled  again,  half  unconsciously.  She  had  never 
called  a  person  "my  good  man"  before.  She  rather 
liked  the  experience. 

The  man  on  the  steps  coughed  slightly  behind  his 
hand  —  a  sudden  spasmodic  little  cough.  Then  very 
gravely  he  reached  into  his  pocket  and  produced  a 
letter. 

"From  Mr.  Robert  Chalmers  —  a  note  to  your 
husband,"  he  bowed,  presenting  the  letter. 

A  look  of  gratified  surprise  came  into  the  woman's 
face. 

"Mr.  Robert  Chalmers,  of  the  First  National?  Jim ! " 
She  turned  to  her  husband  joyously.  "Here's  a  note 
from  Mr.  Chalmers.  Quick  —  read  it!" 

Her  husband,  already  on  his  feet,  whisked  the  sheet 
of  paper  from  the  unsealed  envelope,  and  adjusted 
his  glasses.  A  moment  later  he  held  out  a  cordial  hand 
to  the  stranger. 

22 


ENTER  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

"Ah,  Mr.  Smith,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  I'm  glad  to 
see  any  friend  of  Bob  Chalmers'.  Come  up  and  sit 
down.  My  wife  and  children,  and  my  sister,  Miss 
Blaisdell.  Mr.  Smith,  ladies  —  Mr.  John  Smith." 
(Glancing  at  the  open  note  in  his  hand.)  "He  is  sent 
to  us  by  Mr.  Chalmers,  of  the  First  National." 

"Yes,  thank  you.  Mr.  Chalmers  was  so  kind."  Still 
with  that  deference  so  delightfully  heart-warming, 
the  newcomer  bowed  low  to  the  ladies,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  offered  chair.  "I  will  explain  at  once  my 
business,"  he  said  then.  "I  am  a  genealogist." 

"What's  that?"  It  was  an  eager  question  from 
Benny  on  the  veranda  railing.  "Pa  isn't  anything, 
but  ma's  a  Congregationalist." 

"Hush,  child!"  protested  a  duet  of  feminine  voices 
softly;  but  the  stranger,  apparently  ignoring  the  in 
terruption,  continued  speaking. 

"I  am  gathering  material  for  a  book  on  the  Blais 
dell  family." 

"The  Blaisdell  family!"  repeated  Mr.  James  Blais 
dell,  with  cordial  interest. 

"Yes,"  bowed  the  other.  "It  is  my  purpose  to  re 
main  some  time  in  your  town.  I  am  told  there  are 
valuable  records  here,  and  an  old  burying-ground 
of  particular  interest  in  this  connection.  The  neigh 
boring  towns,  too,  have  much  Blaisdell  data,  I  under 
stand.  As  I  said,  I  am  intending  to  make  this  place 
my  headquarters,  and  I  am  looking  for  an  attractive 
boarding-place.  Mr.  Chalmers  was  good  enough  to 
refer  me  to  you." 

"To  us  —  for  a  boarding -place ! "  There  was  an 
unmistakable  frown  on  Mrs.  James  D.  Blaisdell's 

23 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

countenance  as  she  said  the  words.    "Well,  I'm  sure 
I  don't  see  why  he  should.    We  don't  keep  boarders ! " 

"But,  Hattie,  we  could,"  interposed  her  husband 
eagerly.  "There's  that  big  front  room  that  we  don't 
need  a  bit.  And  it  would  help  a  lot  if-  'At  the 
wrathful  warning  in  his  wife's  eyes  he  fell  back  silenced. 

"I  said  that  we  did  n't  keep  boarders,"  reiterated 
the  lady  distinctly.  "Furthermore,  we  do  need  the 
room  ourselves." 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course;  I  understand,"  broke  in 
Mr.  Smith,  as  if  in  hasty  conciliation.  "I  think  Mr. 
Chalmers  meant  that  perhaps  one  of  you"  -  he 
glanced  uncertainly  at  the  anxious-eyed  little  woman 
at  his  left  —  "might  —  er  —  accommodate  me.  Per 
haps  you,  now  -  '  He  turned  his  eyes  full  upon  Miss 
Flora  Blaisdell,  and  waited. 

The  little  dressmaker  blushed  painfully. 

"Me?  Oh,  mercy,  no!  Why,  I  live  all  alone  —  that 
is,  I  mean,  I  could  n't,  you  know,"  she  stammered 
confusedly.  "I  dressmake,  and  I  don't  get  any  sort 
of  meals  —  not  fit  for  a  man,  I  mean.  Just  women's 
things  —  tea,  toast,  and  riz  biscuit.  I  'm  so  fond  of 
riz  biscuit!  But,  of  course,  you-  '  She  came  to  an 
expressive  pause. 

"Oh,  I  could  stand  the  biscuit,  so  long  as  they're 
not  health  biscuit,"  laughed  Mr.  Smith  genially.  "  You 
see,  I've  been  living  on  those  and  hot  water  quite 
long  enough  as  it  is." 

"Oh,  ain't  your  health  good,  sir?"  The  little  dress 
maker's  face  wore  the  deepest  concern. 

"Well,  it's  better  than  it  was,  thank  you.  I  think 
I  can  promise  to  be  a  good  boarder,  all  right." 

24 


ENTER  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  a  hotel?"  Mrs.  James  D. 
Blaisdell  still  spoke  with  a  slightly  injured  air. 

Mr.  Smith  lifted  a  deprecatory  hand. 

"Oh,  indeed,  that  would  not  do  at  all  —  for  my 
purpose,"  he  murmured.  "I  wish  to  be  very  quiet.  I 
fear  I  should  find  it  quite  disturbing  —  the  noise  and 
confusion  of  a  public  place  like  that.  Besides,  for  my 
work,  it  seemed  eminently 'fitting,  as  well  as  remark 
ably  convenient,  if  I  could  make  my  home  with  one  of 
the  Blaisdell  family." 

With  a  sudden  exclamation  the  little  dressmaker 
sat  erect. 

"Say,  Harriet,  how  funny  we  never  thought!  He's 
just  the  one  for  poor  Maggie !  Why  not  send  him  there?" 

"Poor  Maggie?"  It  was  the  mild  voice  of  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Our  sister  —  yes.   She  lives  — " 

"Your  sister!"  Into  Mr.  Smith's  face  had  come  a 
look  of  startled  surprise  —  a  look  almost  of  terror. 
"But  there  were  n't  but  three  —  that  is,  I  thought  — 
I  understood  from  Mr.  Chalmers  that  there  were  but 
three  Blaisdells,  two  brothers,  and  one  sister  —  you, 
yourself." 

"Oh,  poor  Maggie  ain't  a  Blaisdell,"  explained  the 
little  dressmaker,  with  a  smile.  "She's  just  Maggie 
Duff,  father  Duff's  daughter  by  his  first  wife,  you 
know.  He  married  our  mother  years  ago,  when  we 
children  were  little,  so  we  were  brought  up  with  Mag 
gie,  and  always  called  her  sister;  though,  of  course, 
she  really  ain't  any  relation  to  us  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  see.  Yes,  to  be  sure.  Of  course!"  Mr.  Smith 
seemed  oddly  thoughtful.  He  appeared  to  be  set- 

25 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

tling  something  in  his  mind.   "She  is  n't  a  Blaisdell, 
then." 

"No,  but  she's  so  near  like  one,  and  she's  a  splen 
did  cook,  and  - 

"Well,  I  shan't  send  him  to  Maggie,"  cut  in  Mrs. 
James  D.  Blaisdell  with  emphasis.  "Poor  Maggie's 
got  quite  enough  on  her  hands,  as  it  is,  with  that 
father  of  hers.  Besides,  she  is  n't  a  Blaisdell  at  all." 

"And  she  could  n't  come  and  cook  and  take  care  of 
us  near  so  much,  either,  could  she,"  plunged  in  Benny, 
"if  she  took  this  man  ter  feed?" 

"That  will  do,  Benny,"  admonished  his  mother, 
with  nettled  dignity.  "  You  forget  that  children  should 
be  seen  and  not  heard." 

"Yes 'm.  But,  please,  can't  I  be  heard  just  a  minute 
for  this?  Why  don't  ye  send  the  man  ter  Uncle  Frank 
an'  Aunt  Jane?  Maybe  they'd  take  him." 

"The  very  thing!"  cried  Miss  Flora  Blaisdell.  "I 
would  n't  wonder  a  mite  if  they  did." 

"Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  them,"  nodded  her  sister- 
in-law.   "  And  they  're  always  glad  of  a  little  help,  — 
especially  Jane." 

"Anybody  should  be,"  observed  Mr.  James  Blais 
dell  quietly. 

Only  the  heightened  color  in  his  wife's  cheeks  showed 
that  she  had  heard  —  and  understood. 

"Here,  Benny,"  she  directed,  "go  and  show  the 
gentleman  where  Uncle  Frank  lives." 

"All  right!"  With  a  spring  the  boy  leaped  to  the 
lawn  and  pranced  to  the  sidewalk,  dancing  there  on 
his  toes.  "I'll  show  ye,  Mr.  Smith." 

The  gentleman  addressed  rose  to  his  feet. 

20 


ENTER  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Blaisdell,"  lie  said,  "and  you, 
ladies.  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  again  soon.  I  am  sure 
you  can  help  me,  if  you  will,  in  my  work.  I  shall  want 
to  ask  —  some  questions." 

"Certainly,  sir,  certainly!  We  shall  be  glad  to  see 
you,"  promised  his  host.  "Come  any  time,  and  ask 
all  the  questions  you  want  to." 

"And  we  shall  be  so  interested,"  fluttered  Miss 
Flora.  "I've  always  wanted  to  know  about  father's 
folks.  And  are  you  a  Blaisdell,  too?" 

There  was  the  briefest  of  pauses.  Mr.  Smith  coughed 
again  twice  behind  his  hand. 

"Er  —  ah  —  oh,  yes,  I  may  say  that  I  am.  Through 
my  mother  I  am  descended  from  the  original  immi 
grant,  Ebenezer  Blaisdell." 

"Immigrant!"  exclaimed  Miss  Flora. 

"An  immigrant!"  Mrs.  James  Blaisdell  spoke  the 
word  as  if  her  tongue  were  a  pair  of  tongs,  that  had 
picked  up  a  noxious  viper. 

'*  Yes,  but  not  exactly  as  we  commonly  regard  the 
term  nowadays,"  smiled  Mr.  Smith.  "Mr.  Ebenezer 
Blaisdell  was  a  man  of  means  and  distinction.  He  was 
the  founder  of  the  family  in  this  country.  He  came 
over  in  1647." 

"My,  how  interesting!"  murmured  the  little  dress 
maker,  as  the  visitor  descended  the  steps. 

"Good-night — good-night!  And  thank  you  again," 
bowed  Mr,  John  Smith  to  the  assembled  group  on 
the  veranda.  "And  now,  young  man,  I'm  at  your 
service,"  he  smiled,  as  he  joined  Benny,  still  prancing 
on  the  sidewalk. 

"Now  he's  what  I  call  a  real  nice  pleasant-spoken 

27 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

gentleman,"  avowed  Miss  Flora,  when  she  thought 
speech  was  safe.  "I  do  hope  Jane '11  take  him.'* 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  wTell  enough,"  condescended  Mrs. 
Hattie  Blaisdell,  with  a  yawn. 

"Hattie,  why  wouldn't  you  take  him  in?"  re 
proached  her  husband.  "Just  think  how  the  pay 
would  help!  And  it  would  n't  be  a  bit  of  work,  hardly, 
for  you.  Certainly  it  would  be  a  lot  easier  than  the 
way  we  are  doing." 

The  woman  frowned  impatiently. 

"Jim,  don't,  please!  Do  you  suppose  I  got  over  here 
on  the  West  Side  to  open  a  boarding-house?  I  guess 
not  — yet!" 

"But  what  shall  we  do?" 

"Oh,  we'll  get  along  somehow.  Don't  worry!" 

"Perhaps  if  you'd  worry  a  little  more,  I  would  n't 
worry  so  much,"  sighed  the  man  deeply. 

"Well,  mercy  me,  I  must  be  going,"  interposed  the 
little  dressmaker,  springing  to  her  feet  with  a  nervous 
glance  at  her  brother  and  his  wife.  "I'm  forgetting 
it  ain't  so  near  as  it  used  to  be.  Good-night!" 

"Good-night,  good-night!  Come  again,"  called  the 
three  on  the  veranda.  Then  the  door  closed  behind 
them,  as  they  entered  the  house. 

Meanwhile,  walking  across  the  common,  Benny  was 
entertaining  Mr.  Smith. 

"Yep,  they'll  take  ye,  I  bet  ye  —  Aunt  Jane  an' 
Uncle  Frank  will!" 

"Well,  that's  good,  I'm  sure." 

"Yep.  An'  it'll  be  easy,  too.  Why,  Aunt  Jane '11 
just  tumble  over  herself  ter  get  ye,  if  ye  just  mention 
first- what  yer'll  pay.  She'll  begin  ter  reckon  up  right 

28 


ENTER  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

away  then  what  she'll  save.  An*  in  a  minute  she'll 
say,  'Yes,  I'll  take  ye.'" 

"Indeed!" 

The  uncertainty  in  Mr.  Smith's  voice  was  palpable 
even  to  eight-year-old  Benny. 

"Oh,  you  don't  need  ter  worry,"  he  hastened  to 
explain.  "She  won't  starve  ye;  only  she  won't  let  ye 
waste  anythin'.  You'll  have  ter  eat  all  the  crusts  to 
yer  pie,  and  finish  'taters  before  you  can  get  any  pud- 
din',  an'  all  that,  ye  know.  Ye  see,  she's  great  on 
savin'  —  Aunt  Jane  is.  She  says  waste  is  a  sinful  ex 
travagance  before  the  Lord." 

"Indeed!"  Mr.  Smith  laughed  outright  this  time. 
"But  are  you  sure,  my  boy,  that  you  ought  to  talk  — 
just  like  this,  about  your  aunt?" 

Benny's  eyes  widened. 

"Why,  that's  all  right,  Mr.  Smith.  Ev'rybody  in 
town  knows  Aunt  Jane.  Why,  Ma  says  folks  say 
she'd  save  ter-day  for  ter-morrer,  if  she  could.  But 
she  could  n't  do  that,  could  she?  So  that's  just  silly 
talk.  But  you  wait  till  you  see  Aunt  Jane." 

"All  right.   I'll  wait,  Benny." 

"Well,  ye  won't  have  ter  wait  long,  Mr.  Smith, 
'cause  here's  her  house.  She  lives  over  the  groc'ry 
store,  ter  save  rent,  ye  know.  It 's  Uncle  Frank's  store. 
An'  here  we  are,"  he  finished,  banging  open  a  door  and 
leading  the  way  up  a  flight  of  ill-lighted  stairs. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE 

AT  the  top  of  the  stairs  Benny  tried  to  open  the  door, 
but  as  it  did  not  give  at  his  pressure,  he  knocked  lus 
tily,  and  called  "Aunt  Jane,  Aunt  Jane!" 

"Isn't  this  the  bell?"  hazarded  Mr.  Smith,  his 
finger  almost  on  a  small  push-button  near  him. 

"Yep,  but  it  don't  go  now.  Uncle  Frank  wanted 
it  fixed,  but  Aunt  Jane  said  no;  knockin'  was  just  as 
good,  an'  't  was  lots  cheaper,  'cause  't  would  save 
mendin',  and  did  n't  use  any  'lectricity.  But  Uncle 
Frank  says  — " 

The  door  opened  abruptly,  and  Benny  interrupted 
himself  to  give  eager  greeting. 

"Hullo,  Aunt  Jane!  I've  brought  you  somebody. 
He's  Mr.  Smith.  An'  you'll  be  glad.  You  see  if  yer 
ain't!"  «H  i 

In  the  dim  hallway  Mr.  Smith  saw  a  tall,  angular 
woman  with  graying  dark  hair  and  high  cheek  bones. 
Her  eyes  were  keen  and  just  now  somewhat  sternly 
inquiring,  as  they  were  bent  upon  himself. 

Perceiving  that  Benny  considered  his  mission  as 
master  of  ceremonies  at  an  end,  Mr.  Smith  hastened 
to  explain. 

"I  came  from  your  husband's  brother,  madam. 
He  —  or  —  sent  me.  He  thought  perhaps  you  had  a 
room  that  I  could  have." 

30 


THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE 

"A  room?"  Her  eyes  grew  still  more  coldly  dis 
approving. 

"Yes,  and  board.  He  thought  —  that  is,  they 
thought  that  perhaps  —  you  would  be  so  kind." 

"Oh,  a  boarder!   You  mean  for  pay,  of  course?" 

" Most  certainly!" 

"Oh!"  She  softened  visibly,  and  stepped  back. 
"Well,  I  don't  know.  I  never  have  —  but  that  is  n't 
saying  I  could  n't,  of  course.  Come  in.  We  can  talk 
it  over.  That  does  n't  cost  anything.  Come  in ;  this 
way,  please."  As  she  finished  speaking  she  stepped 
to  the  low-burning  gas  jet  and  turned  it  carefully  to 
give  a  little  more  light  down  the  narrow  hallway. 

"Thank  you,"  murmured  Mr.  Smith,  stepping 
across  the  threshold. 

Benny  had  already  reached  the  door  at  the  end  of 
the  hall.  The  woman  began  to  tug  at  her  apron  strings. 

"I  hope  you'll  excuse  my  gingham  apron,  Mr. — 
er  —  Smith.  Was  n't  that  the  name?" 

"Yes."  The  man  bowed  with  a  smile. 

"I  thought  that  was  what  Benny  said.  Well,  as 
I  was  saying,  I  hope  you'll  excuse  this  apron."  Her 
fingers  were  fumbling  with  the  knot  at  the  back.  "I 
take  it  off,  mostly,  when  the  bell  rings,  evenings  or 
afternoons;  but  I  heard  Benny,  and  I  did  n't  suppose 
't  was  anybody  but  him.  There,  that 's  better !"  With 
a  jerk  she  switched  off  the  dark  blue  apron,  hung  it 
over  her  arm,  and  smoothed  down  the  spotless  white 
apron  which  had  been  beneath  the  blue.  The  next 
instant  she  hurried  after  Benny  with  a  warning  cry. 
"Careful,  child,  careful!  Oh,  Benny,  you're  always 
in  such  a  hurry ! " 

31 


OH,, .MONEY!  MONEY! 

Benny,  with  a  cheery  "Come  on!"  had  already 
banged  open  the  door  before  him,  and  was  reaching 
for  the  gas  burner. 

A  moment  later  the  feeble  spark  above  had  become 
a  flaring  sputter  of  flame. 

"There,  child,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  With  a  frown 
Mrs.  Blaisdell  reduced  the  flaring  light  to  a  moderate 
flame,  and  motioned  Mr.  Smith  to  a  chair.  Before 
she  seated  herself,  however,  she  went  back  into  the 
hall  to  lower  the  gas  there.  > 

During  her  momentary  absence  the  man,  Smith, 
looked  about  him,  and  as  he  looked  he  pulled  at  his 
collar.  He  felt  suddenly  a  choking,  suffocating  sen 
sation.  He  still  had  the  curious  feeling  of  trying  to 
catch  his  breath  when  the  woman  came  back  and  took 
the  chair  facing  him.  In  a  moment  he  knew  why  he 
felt  so  suffocated  —  it  was  because  that  nowhere  could 
he  see  an  object  that  was  not  wholly  or  partially  cov 
ered  with  some  other  object,  or  that  was  not  serving 
as  a  cover  itself. 

The  floor  bore  innumerable  small  rugs,  one  before 
each  chair,  each  door,  and  the  fireplace.  The  chairs 
themselves,  and  the  sofa,  were  covered  with  gray  linen 
slips,  which,  in  turn,  were  protected  by  numerous 
squares  of  lace  and  worsted  of  generous  size.  The  green 
silk  spread  on  the  piano  was  nearly  hidden  beneath  a 
linen  cover,  and  the  table  showed  a  succession  of  layers 
of  silk,  worsted,  and  linen,  topped  by  crocheted  mats, 
on  which  rested  several  books  with  paper-enveloped 
covers.  The  chandelier,  mirror,  and  picture  frames 
gleamed  dully  from  behind  the  mesh  of  pink  mosquito 
netting.  Even  through  the  doorway  into  the  hall 

32 


THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE 

might  be  seen  the  long,  red-bordered  white  linen  path 
that  carried  protection  to  the  carpet  beneath. 

"I  don't  like  gas  myself."  (With  a  start  the  man 
pulled  himself  together  to  listen  to  what  the  woman 
was  saying.)  "I  think  it's  a  foolish  extravagance, 
when  kerosene  is  so  good  and  so  cheap;  but  my  hus~ 
band  will  have  it,  and  Mellicent,  too,  in  spite  of 
anything  I  say  —  Mellicent 's  my  daughter.  I  tell 
'em  if  we  were  rich,  it  would  be  different,  of  course. 
But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there,  nor  what  you  came 
to  talk  about!  Now  just  what  is  it  that  you  want,  sir? " 

"I  want  to  board  here,  if  I  may." 

"How  long?" 

"A  year  —  two  years,  perhaps,  if  we  are  mutually 
satisfied." 

"What  do  you  do  for  a  living?" 

Smith  coughed  suddenly.  Before  he  could  catch  his 
breath  to  answer  Benny  had  jumped  into  the  breach. 

"He  sounds  something  like  a  Congregationalist, 
only  he  ain't  that,  Aunt  Jane,  and  he  ain't  after 
money  for  missionaries,  either." 

Jane  Blaisdell  smiled  at  Benny  indulgently.  Then 
she  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 

"You  know,  Benny,  very  well,  that  nothing  would 
suit  Aunt  Jane  better  than  to  give  money  to  all  the 
missionaries  in  the  world,  if  she  only  had  it  to  give!" 
She  sighed  again  as  she  turned  to  Mr.  Smith.  "You 
're  working  for  some  church,  then,  I  take  it." 

Mr.  Smith  gave  a  quick  gesture  of  dissent. 

"I  am  a  genealogist,  madam,  in  a  small  way.  I  aai 
collecting  data  for  a  book  on  the  Blaisdell  family." 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Blaisdell  frowned  slightly.  The  look 

33 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

of  cold  disapproval  came  back  to  her  eyes.  "But  who 
pays  you?  We  could  n't  take  the  book,  I'm  sure.  We 
could  n't  afford  it." 

"That  would  not  be  necessary,  madam,  I  assure 
you,"  murmured  Mr.  Smith  gravely. 

"But  how  do  you  get  money  to  live  on?  I  mean, 
how  am  I  to  know  that  I'll  get  my  pay?"  she  per 
sisted.  "Excuse  me,  but  that  kind  of  business  does 
n't  sound  very  good-paying;  and,  you  see,  I  don't 
know  you.  And  in  these  days  —  "  An  expressive  pause 
finished  her  sentence. 

Mr.  Smith  smiled. 

"Quite  right,  madam.  You  are  wise  to  be  cautious. 
I  had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  your  brother  from 
Mr.  Robert  Chalmers.  I,  think  he  will  vouch  for  me. 
Will  that  do?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  then.  But  that  isn't  saying 
how  much  you  '11  pay.  Now,  I  think  - 

There  came  a  sharp  knock  at  the  outer  door.  The 
eager  Benny  jumped  to  his  feet,  but  his  aunt  shook 
her  head  and  went  to  the  door  herself.  There  was  a 
murmur  of  voices,  then  a  young  man  entered  the  hall 
and  sat  down  in  the  chair  near  the  hatrack.  When 
Mrs.  Blaisdell  returned  her  eyes  were  very  bright. 
Her  cheeks  showed  two  little  red  spots.  She  carried 
herself  with  manifest  importance. 

"If  you'll  just  excuse  me  a  minute,"  she  apologized 
to  Mr.  Smith,  as  she  swept  by  him  and  opened  a  door 
across  the  room,  nearly  closing  it  behind  her. 

Distinctly  then,  from  beyond  the  imperfectly  closed 
door,  came  to  the  ears  of  Benny  and  Mr.  Smith  these 
words,  in  Mrs.  Blaisdell's  most  excited  accents:  — 

34 


THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE 

"Mellicent,  it's  Carl  Pennock.  He  wants  you  to 
go  auto-riding  with  him  down  to  the  Lake  with  Katie 
Moore  and  that  crowd." 

"Mother!"  breathed  an  ecstatic  voice. 

What  followed  Mr.  Smith  did  not  hear,  for  a  nearer, 
yet  more  excited,  voice  demanded  attention. 

"Gee!  Carl  Pennock!"  whispered  Benny  hoarsely. 
"Whew!  WTon't  my  sister  Bess  be  mad?  She  thinks 
Carl  Pennock 's  the  cutest  thing  going.  All  the  girls 
do!" 

With  a  warning  "  Sh-h ! "  and  an  expressive  glance 
toward  the  hall,  Mr.  Smith  tried  to  stop  further  rev 
elations;  but  Benny  was  not  to  be  silenced. 

"They're  rich  —  awful  rich  —  the  Pennocks  are," 
he  confided  still  more  huskily.  "An'  there's  a  girl — • 
Gussie.  She's  gone  on  Fred.  He's  my  brother,  ye 
know.  He's  seventeen;  an'  Bess  is  mad  'cause  she 
is  n't  seventeen,  too,  so  she  can  go  an'  play  tennis 
same  as  Fred  does.  She'll  be  madder  'n  ever  now,  if 
Mell  goes  auto-riding  with  Carl,  an'  — " 

"Sh-h!"  So  imperative  were  Mr.  Smith's  voice 
and  gesture  this  time  that  Benny  fell  back  subdued. 

At  once  then  became  distinctly  audible  again  the 
voices  from  the  other  room.  Mr.  Smith,  forced  to  hear 
in  spite  of  himself,  had  the  air  of  one  who  finds  he  has 
abandoned  the  frying  pan  for  the  fire. 

"No,  dear,  it's  quite  out  of  the  question,"  came 
from  beyond  the  door,  in  Mrs.  Blaisdell's  voice.  "I 
can't  let  you  wear  your  pink. ,  You  will  wear  the  blue 
or  stay  at  home.  Just  as  you  choose." 

"But,  mother,  dear,  it's  all  out  of  date,"  wailed  a 
young  girl's  voice. 

35 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I  can't  help  that.  It's  perfectly  whole  and  neat, 
and  you  must  save  the  pink  for  best." 

"But  I'm  always  saving  things  for  best,  mother, 
and  I  never  wear  my  best.  I  never  wear  a  thing  when 
it's  in  style!  By  the  time  you  let  me  wear  the  pink  I 
shan't  want  to  wear  it.  Sleeves  '11  be  small  then  —  you 
see  if  they  are  n't  —  I  shall  be  wearing  big  ones.  I 
want  to  wear  big  ones  now,  when  other  girls  do.  Please, 
mother!" 

"Mellicent,  why  will  you  tease  me  like  this,  when 
you  know  it  will  do  no  good?  —  when  you  know  I  can't 
let  you  do  it?  Don't  you  think  I  want  you  to  be  as 
well-dressed  as  anybody,  if  we  could  afford  it?  Come, 
I  'm  waiting.  You  must  wear  the  blue  or  stay  at  home. 
What  shall  I  tell  him?" 

There  was  a  pause,  then  there  came  an  inarticulate 
word  and  a  choking  half -sob.  The  next  moment  the 
door  opened  and  Mrs.  Blaisdell  appeared.  The  pink 
spots  in  her  cheeks  had  deepened.  She  shut  the  door 
firmly,  then  hurried  through  the  room  to  the  hall 
beyond.  Another  minute  and  she  was  back  in  her 
chair. 

"There,"  she  smiled  pleasantly.  "I'm  ready  now 
to  talk  business,  Mr.  Smith." 

And  she  talked  business.  She  stated  plainly  what 
she  expected  to  do  for  her  boarder,  and  what  she  ex 
pected  her  boarder  would  do  for  her.  She  enlarged 
upon  the  advantages  and  minimized  the  discomforts, 
with  the  aid  of  a  word  now  and  then  from  the  eager 
and  interested  Benny. 

Mr.  Smith,  on  his  part,  had  little  to  say.  That  that 
little  was  most  satisfactory,  however,  was  very  evi- 

36 


THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE 

dent;  for  Mrs.  Blaisdell  was  soon  quite  glowing  with 
pride  and  pleasure.  Mr.  Smith  was  not  glowing.  He 
was  plainly  ill  at  ease,  and,  at  times,  slightly  ab 
stracted.  His  eyes  frequently  sought  the  door  which 
Mrs.  Blaisdell  had  closed  so  firmly  a  short  time  before. 
They  were  still  turned  in  that  direction  when  sud 
denly  the  door  opened  and  a  young  girl  appeared. 

She  was  a  slim  little  girl  with  long-lashed,  star- 
like  eyes  and  a  wild-rose  flush  in  her  cheeks.  Beneath 
her  trim  hat  her  light  brown  hair  waved  softly  over 
her  ears,  glinting  into  gold  where  the  light  struck  it. 
She  looked  excited  and  pleased,  yet  not  quite  happy. 
She  wore  a  blue  dress,  plainly  made. 

"Don't  stay  late.  Be  in  before  ten,  dear,"  cautioned 
Mrs.  Blaisdell.  "And  Mellicent,  just  a  minute,  dear. 
This  is  Mr.  Smith.  You  might  as  well  meet  him  now. 
He 's  coming  here  to  live  —  to  board,  you  know.  My 
daughter,  Mr.  Smith." 

Mr.  Smith,  already  on  his  feet,  bowed  and  mur 
mured  a  conventional  something.  From  the  starlike 
eyes  he  received  a  fleeting  glance  that  made  him  sud 
denly  conscious  of  his  fifty  years  and  the  bald  spot 
on  the  top  of  his  head.  Then  the  girl  was  gone,  and 
her  mother  was  speaking  again. 

"She's  going  auto-riding  —  Mellicent  is  —  with  a 
young  man,  Carl  Pennock  —  one  of  the  nicest  in  town. 
There  are  four  others  in  the  party.  They're  going 
down  to  the  Lake  for  cake  and  ice  cream,  and  they're 
all  nice  young  people,  else  I  should  n't  let  her  go,  of 
course.  She's  eighteen,  for  all  she's  so  small.  She 
favors  my  mother  in  looks,  but  she 's  got  the  Blaisdell 
nose,  though.  Oh,  and  't  was  the  Blaisdells  you  said 

37 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

you  were  writing  a  book  about,  was  n't  it?  You  don't 
mean  our  Blaisdells,  right  here  in  Hillerton?" 

"I  mean  all  Blaisdells,  wherever  I  find  them," 
smiled  Mr.  Smith. 

"Dear  me!  What,  us?  You  mean  we'll  be  in  the 
book?"  Now  that  the  matter  of  board  had  been  satis 
factorily  settled,  Mrs.  Blaisdell  apparently  dared  to 
show  some  interest  in  the  book. 

"Certainly." 

'You  don't  say!  My,  how  pleased  Hattie'll  b? — 
my  sister-in-law,  Jim's  wife.  She  just  loves  to  see  her 
name  in  print  —  parties,  and  club  banquets,  and 
where  she  pours,  you  know.  But  maybe  you  don't 
take  women,  too." 

"Oh,  yes,  if  they  are  Blaisdells,  or  have  married 
Blaisdells." 

"Oh!  That's  where  we'd  come  in,  then,  isn't  it? 
Mellicent  and  I?  And  Frank,  my  husband,  he'll  like 
it,  too,  —  if  you  tell  about  the  grocery  store.  And  of 
course  you  would,  if  you  told  about  him.  You'd  have 
to  —  -  'cause  that's  all  there  is  to  tell.  He  thinks  that's 
about  all  there  is  in  the  world,  anyway,  —  that  gro 
cery  store.  And  't  is  a  good  store,  if  I  do  say  it.  And 
there's  his  sister,  Flora;  and  Maggie —  But,  there! 
Poor  Maggie!  She  won't  be  in  it,  will  she,  after  all? 
She  is  n't  a  Blaisdell,  and  she  did  n't  marry  one.  Now 
that's  too  bad!" 

"Ho!  She  won't  mind."  Benny  spoke  with  convic 
tion.  "She'll  just  laugh  and  say  it  does  n't  matter;  and 
then  Grandpa  Duff  '11  ask  for  his  drops  or  his  glasses, 
or  something,  and  she'll  forget  all  about  it.  She  won't 
care." 

38 


"Yes,  I  know;  but--  Poor  Maggie!  Always  just 
her  luck."  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  sighed  and  looked  thought 
ful.  "But  Maggie  knows  a  lot  about  the  Blaisdells," 
she  added,  brightening;  "so  she  could  tell  you  lots  of 
things  —  about  when  they  were  little,  and  all  that." 

"Yes.  But  —  that  is  n't  —  er  — "  Mr.  Smith  hesi 
tated  doubtfully,  and  Mrs.  BlaisdeH  jumped  into  the 
pause. 

"And,  really,  for  that  matter,  she  knows  about  us 
now,  too,  better  than  'most  anybody  else.  Hattie's 
always  sending  for  her,  and  Flora,  too,  if  they  're  sick, 
or  anything.  Poor  Maggie!  Sometimes  I  think  they 
actually  impose  upon  her.  And  she's  such  a  good 
soul,  too!  I  declare,  I  never  see  her  but  I  wish  I  could 
do  something  for  her.  But,  of  course,  with  my  means 
—  But,  there!  Here  I  am,  running  on  as  usual.  Frank 
says  I  never  do  know  when  to  stop,  when  I  get  started 
on  something;  and  of  course  you  did  n't  come  here  to 
talk  about  poor  Maggie.  Now  I  '11  go  back  to  business. 
When  is  it  you  want  to  start  in  —  to  board,  I  mean?" 

"To-morrow,  if  I  may."  With  some  alacrity  Mr. 
Smith  got  to  his  feet.  "  And  now  we  must  be  going  — 
Benny  and  I.  I'm  at  the  Holland  House.  With  your 
permission,  then,  Mrs.  BlaisdeH,  I  '11  send  up  my  trunks 
to-morrow  morning.  And  now  good-night  —  and 
thank  you." 

"Why  —  but,  Mr.  Smith!"  The  woman,  too,  came 
to  her  feet,  but  her  face  was  surprised.  "Why,  you 
have  n't  even  seen  your  room  yet!  How  do  you  know 
you '11  like  it?" 

"Eh?  What?  Oh!"  Mr.  Smith  laughed.  There 
was  a  quizzical  lift  to  his  eyebrows.  "So  I  have  n't, 

39 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

have  I?  And  people  usually  do,  don't  they?  Well  — 
er  —  perhaps  I  will  just  take  a  look  at  —  the  room, 
though  I'm  not  worrying  any,  I  assure  you.  I've  no 
doubt  it  will  be  quite  right,  quite  right,"  he  finished, 
as  he  followed  Mrs.  Blaisdell  to  a  door  halfway  down 
the  narrow  hall. 

Five  minutes  later,  once  more  on  the  street,  he  was 
walking  home  with  Benny.  It  was  Benny  who  broke 
the  long  silence  that  had  immediately  fallen  between 
them. 

"Say,  Mr.  Smith,  I'll  bet  ye  you'll  never  be  rich!" 

Mr.  Smith  turned  with  a  visible  start. 

"Eh?  What?  I '11  never  be—  What  do  you  mean, 
boy?" 

Benny  giggled  cheerfully. 

"  'Cause  you  paid  Aunt  Jane  what  she  asked  the 
very  first  time.  Why,  Aunt  Jane  never  expects  ter 
get  what  she  asks,  pa  says.  She  sells  him  groceries  in 
the  store,  sometimes,  when  Uncle  Frank's  away,  ye 
know.  Pa  says  what  she  asks  first  is  for  practice  — 
just  ter  get  her  hand  in;  an'  she  expects  ter  get  beat 
down.  But  you  paid  it,  right  off  the  bat.  Did  n't  ye 
see  how  tickled  Aunt  Jane  was,  after  she'd  got  over 
bein'  surprised?" 

"Why — er — really,  Benny,"  murmured  Mr.  Smith. 

But  Benny  had  yet  more  to  say. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,  you  could  have  saved  a  lot  every  week, 
if  ye  had  n't  bit  so  quick.  An'  that's  why  I  say  you 
won't  ever  get  rich.  Savin'  's  what  does  it,  ye  know 
—  gets  folks  rich.  Aunt  Jane  says  so.  She  says  a 
penny  saved  's  good  as  two  earned,  an'  better  than 
four  spent." 

4Q 


THE  SMALL  BOY  AT  THE  KEYHOLE 

"Well,  really,  indeed!"  Mr.  Smith  laughed  lightly. 
"That  does  look  as  if  there  wasn't  much  chance  for 
me,  does  n't  it?  " 

"Yes,  sir."  Benny  spoke  soberly,  and  with  evident 
sympathy.  He  spoke  again,  after  a  moment,  but  Mr. 
Smith  did  not  seem  to  hear  at  once.  Mr.  Smith  was, 
indeed,  not  a  little  abstracted  all  the  way  to  Benny's 
home,  though  his  good-night  was  very  cheerful  at 
parting.  Benny  would  have  been  surprised,  indeed,  had 
he  known  that  Mr.  Smith  was  thinking,  not  about 
his  foolishly  extravagant  agreement  for  board,  but 
about  a  pair  of  starry  eyes  with  wistful  lights  in  them, 
and  a  blue  dress,  plainly  made. 

In  the  hotel  that  night,  Mr.  John  Smith  wrote  the 
following  letter  to  Edward  D.  Norton,  Esq.,  Chicago:^ 

MY  DEAR  NED,  —  Well,  I'm  here.  I've  been  here  exactly 
six  hours,  and  already  I'm  in  possession  of  not  a  little 
Blaisdell  data  for  my  —  er  —  book.  I  've  seen  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
James,  their  daughter,  Bessie,  and  their  son,  Benny.  Benny, 
by  the  way,  is  a  gushing  geyser  of  current  Blaisdell  data 
which,  I  foresee,  I  shall  find  interesting,  but  embarrassing, 
perhaps,  at  times.  I  've  also  seen  Miss  Flora,  and  Mrs.  Jane 
Blaisdell  and  her  daughter,  Mellicent. 

There's  a  "Poor  Maggie"  whom  I  haven't  seen.  But 
she  is  n't  a  Blaisdell.  She 's  a  Duff,  daughter  of  the  man  who 
married  Rufus  BlaisdelPs  widow,  some  thirty  years  or  more 
ago.  As  I  said,  I  have  n't  seen  her  yet,  but  she,  too,  accord 
ing  to  Mrs.  Frank  Blaisdell,  must  be  a  gushing  geyser  of 
Blaisdell  data,  so  I  probably  soon  shall  see  her.  Why  she's 
"poor"  I  don't  know. 

As  for  the  Blaisdell  data  already  in  my  possession  —  I  've 
no  comment  to  make.  Really,  Ned,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm 
not  sure  I'm  going  to  relish  this  job,  after  all.  In  spite  of  a 
perfectly  clear  conscience,  and  the  virtuous  realization  that 

41 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

I'm  here  to  bring  nothing  worse  than  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  apiece  (with  the  possible  addition  of  a  few  millions 
on  their  devoted  heads  —  in  spite  of  all  this,  I  yet  have  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  I'm  a  small  boy  listening  at  the 
keyhole. 

However,  I  'm  committed  to  the  thing  now,  so  I  '11  stuff  it 
out,  I  suppose,  —  though  I'm  not  sure,  after  all,  that  I 
would  n't  chuck  the  whole  thing  if  it  was  n't  that  I  wanted 
to  see  how  Mellicent  will  enjoy  her  pink  dresses.  How  many 
pink  dresses  will  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  buy,  anyway, 
- 1  mean  pretty  pink  dresses,  all  fixed  up  with  frills  and 
furbelows? 

As  ever  yours, 

STAN —  er  —  JOHN  SMITH. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES' 

VERY  promptly  the  next  morning  Mr.  John  Smith 
and  his  two  trunks  appeared  at  the  door  of  his  new 
boarding-place.  Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell  welcomed  him 
cordially.  She  wore  a  high-necked,  long-sleeved  ging 
ham  apron  this  time,  which  she  neither  removed  nor 
apologized  for  —  unless  her  cheerful  "  You  see,  morn 
ings  you'll  find  me  in  working  trim,  Mr.  Smith," 
might  be  taken  as  an  apology. 

Mellicent,  her  slender  young  self  enveloped  in  a 
similar  apron,  was  dusting  his  room  as  he  entered  it. 
She  nodded  absently,  with  a  casual  "Good-morning, 
Mr.  Smith,"  as  she  continued  at  her  work.  Even  the 
placing  of  the  two  big  trunks,  which  the  shuffling 
men  brought  in,  won  from  her  only  a  listless  glance  or 
two.  Then,  without  speaking  again,  she  left  the  room, 
as  her  mother  entered  it. 

"There!"  Mrs.  Blaisdell  looked  about  her  compla 
cently.  "With  this  couch-bed  with  its  red  cover  and 
cushions,  and  all  the  dressing  things  moved  to  the 
little  room  in  there,  it  looks  like  a  real  sitting-room 
in  here,  does  n't  it?" 

"It  certainly  does,  Mrs.  Blaisdell." 

"And  you  had  'em  take  the  trunks  in  there,  too. 
That's  good,"  she  nodded,  crossing  to  the  door  of  the 
small  dressing-room  beyond.  "I  thought  you  would. 

43 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Well,  I  hope  you'll  be  real  happy  with  us,  Mr.  Smith, 
and  I  guess  you  will.  And  you  need  n't  be  a  mite 
afraid  of  hurting  anything.  I've  covered  everything 
with  mats  and  tidies  and  spreads." 

"Yes,  I  see."  A  keen  listener  would  have  noticed 
an  odd  something  in  Mr.  Smith's  voice;  but  Mrs. 
Blaisdell  apparently  noticed  nothing. 

"Yes,  I  always  do  —  to  save  wearing  and  soiling, 
you  know.  Of  course,  if  we  had  money  to  buy  new 
all  the  time,  it  would  be  different.  But  we  have  n't. 
And  that's  what  I  tell  Mellicent  when  she  complains 
of  so  many  things  to  dust  and  brush.  Now  make  your 
self  right  at  home,  Mr.  Smith.  Dinner's  at  twelve 
o'clock,  and  supper  is  at  six  —  except  in  the  winter. 
We  have  it  earlier  then,  so 's  we  can  go  to  bed  earlier. 
Saves  gas,  you  know.  But  it's  at  six  now.  I  do  like 
the  long  days,  don't  you?  /Well,  I'll  be  off  now,  and 
let  you  unpack.  As  I  said  before,  make  yourself  per 
fectly  at  home,  perfectly  at  home." 

Left  alone,  Mr.  Smith  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
about  him.  It  was  a  pleasant  room,  in  spite  of  its  clut 
tered  appearance.  There  was  an  old-fashioned  desk 
for  his  papers,  and  the  chairs  looked  roomy  and  com 
fortable.  The  little  dressing-room  carried  many  con 
veniences,  and  the  windows  of  both  rooms  looked  out 
upon  the  green  of  the  common. 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  know.  This  might  be  lots  worse 
-  in  spite  of  the  tidies ! "  chuckled  Mr.  John  Smith, 
as  he  singled  out  the  keys  of  his  trunks. 

At  the  noon  dinner-table  Mr.  Smith  met  Mr.  Frank 
Blaisdell.  He  was  a  portly  man  with  rather  thick  gray 
hair  and  "mutton-chop"  gray  whiskers.  He  ate  very 

44 


IN  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES 

fast,  and  a  great  deal,  yet  he  still  found  time  to  talk 
interestedly  with  his  new  boarder. 

He  was  plainly  a  man  of  decided  opinions  —  opin 
ions  which  he  did  not  hesitate  to  express,  and  which 
he  emphasized  with  resounding  thumps  of  his  fists 
on  the  table.  The  first  time  he  did  this,  Mr.  Smith, 
taken  utterly  by  surprise,  was  guilty  of  a  visible  start. 
After  that  he  learned  to  accept  them  with  the  serenity 
evinced  by  the  rest  of  the  family. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  Mr.  Smith  knew  (if  he 
could  remember  them)  the  current  market  prices  ot 
beans,  corn,  potatoes,  sugar,  and  flour;  and  he  knew 
(again  if  he  could  remember)  why  some  of  these  com 
modities  were  higher,  and  some  lower,  than  they  had 
been  the  week  before.  In  a  way,  Mr.  John  Smith  was 
interested.  That  stocks  and  bonds  fluctuated,  he  was 
well  aware.  That  "wheat"  could  be  cornered,  he 
realized.  But  of  the  ups  and  downs  of  corn  and  beans 
as  seen  by  the  retail  grocer  he  knew  very  little.  That 
is,  he  had  known  very  little  until  after  that  dinner 
with  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell. 

It  was  that  afternoon  that  Mr.  Smith  began  sys 
tematically  to  gather  material  for  his  Blaisdell  book. 
He  would  first  visit  by  turns  all  the  Hillerton  Blais- 
dells,  he  decided;  then,  when  he  had  exhausted  theii 
resources,  he  would,  of  course,  turn  to  the  town  rec-. 
ords  and  cemeteries  of  Hillerton  and  the  neighboring 
villages.  * 

Armed  with  a  pencil  and  a  very  businesslike  look 
ing  notebook,  therefore,  he  started  at  two  o'clock 
for  the  home  of  James  Blaisdell.  Remembering  Mr. 
Blaisdell 's  kind  permission  to  come  and  ask  all  the 

45 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

questions  he  liked,  he  deemed  it  fitting  to  begin 
there. 

He  had  no  trouble  in  finding  the  house,  but  there 
was  no  one  in  sight  this  time,  as  he  ascended  the  steps. 
The  house,  indeed,  seemed  strangely  quiet.  He  was 
just  about  to  ring  the  bell  when  around  the  corner  of 
the  veranda  came  a  hurried  step  and  a  warning  voice. 

"Oh,  please,  don't  ring  the  bell!  What  is  it?  Is  n't 
it  something  that  I  can  do  for  you?" 

Mr.  Smith  turned  sharply.  He  thought  at  first, 
fromUhe  trim,  slender  figure,  and  the  waving  hair 
above  the  gracefully  poised  head,  that  he  was  con 
fronting  a  young  woman.  Then  he  saw  the  silver 
threads  at  the  temples,  and  the  fine  lines  about  the 
eyes. 

"I  am  looking  for  Mrs.  Blaisdell  —  Mrs.  James 
Blaisdell,"  he  answered,  lifting  his  hat. 

"Oh,  you're  Mr.  Smith.  Aren't  you  Mr.  Smith?" 
She  smiled  brightly,  then  went  on  before  he  could 
reply.  "You  see,  Benny  told  me.  He  described  you 
perfectly." 

The  man's  eyebrows  went  up. 

"Oh,  did  he?  The  young  rascal!  I  fancy  I  should 
be  edified  to  hear  it  —  that  description." 

The  other  laughed.  Then,  a  bit  roguishly,  she  de 
manded  :  — 

"Should  you  like  to  hear  it  —  really?" 

"I  certainly  should.  I've  already  collected  a  few 
samples  of  Benny's  descriptive  powers." 

"Then  you  shall  have  this  one.  Sit  down,  Mr. 
Smith."  She  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  and  dropped 
easily  into  one  herself.  "Benny  said  you  were  tall  and 

46 


IN  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES 

not  fat;  that  you  had  a  wreath  of  light  hair  'round  a 
bald  spot,  and  whiskers  that  were  clipped  as  even  as 
Mr.  Pennock's  hedge;  and  that  your  lips,  without 
speaking,  said,  'Run  away,  little  boy/  but  that  your 
eyes  said,  'Come  here.'  Now  I  think  Benny  did  pretty 
well." 

"So  I  judge,  since  you  recognized  me  without  any 
difficulty,"  rejoined  Mr.  Smith,  a  bit  dryly.  "But  — • 
you  —  ?  You  see  you  have  the  advantage  of  me. 
Benny  has  n't  described  you  to  me."  He  paused  sig 
nificantly. 

"Oh,  I'm  just  here  to  help  out.  Mrs.  Blaisdell  is 
ill  upstairs  —  one  of  her  headaches.  That  is  why  I 
asked  you  not  to  ring.  She  gets  so  nervous  when  the 
bell  rings.  She  thinks  it's  callers,  and  that  she  won't 
be  ready  to  receive  them ;  and  she  hurries  up  and  be 
gins  to  dress.  So  I  asked  you  not  to  ring." 

"But  she  is  n't  seriously  ill?" 

"Oh,  no,  just  a  headache.  She  has  them  often. 
You  wanted  to  see  her?" 

"Yes.  But  it's  not  important  at  all.  Another  time, 
just  as  well.  Some  questions  —  that  is  all." 

"Oh,  for  the  book,  of  course.  Oh,  yes,  I  have  heard 
about  that,  too."  She  smiled  again  brightly.  "But 
can't  you  wait?  Mr.  Blaisdell  will  soon  be  here.  He's 
coming  early  so  I  can  go  home.  I  have  to  go  home." 

"And  you  are — " 

"Miss  Duff.  My  name  is  Duff." 

"You  don't  mean  — 'Poor  Maggie'!'*  (Not  until 
the  words  were  out  did  Mr.  Smith  realize  quite  how 
they  would  sound.)  "Er  —  ah  —  that  is — "  He 
stumbled  miserably,  and  she  came  to  his  rescue. 

47 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  —  'Poor  Maggie.'5  There  was  an 
odd  something  in  her  expressive  face  that  Mr.  Smith 
could  not  fathom.  He  was  groping  for  something  — 
anything  to  say,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  sound 
behind  them,  and  the  little  woman  at  his  side  sprang 
to  her  feet. 

"Oh,  Hattie,  you  came  down!"  she  exclaimed  as 
Mrs.  James  Blaisdell  opened  the  screen  door  and 
stepped  out  on  to  the  veranda.  "Here's  Mrs.  Blais 
dell  now,  Mr.  Smith." 

"Oh,  it's  only  Mr.  Smith!"  With  a  look  very  like 
annoyance  Mrs.  Blaisdell  advanced  and  held  out  her 
hand.  She  looked  pale,  and  her  hair  hung  a  bit  un 
tidily  about  one  ear  below  a  somewhat  twisted  pyra 
mid  of  puffs.  Her  dress,  though  manifestly  an  expen 
sive  one,  showed  haste  in  its  fastenings.  "Yes,  I 
heard  voices,  and  I  thought  some  one  had  come  —  a 
caller.  So  I  came  down." 

"I'm  glad  —  if  you're  better,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie. 
"Then  I  '11  go,  if  you  don't  mind.  Mr.  Smith  has  come 
to  ask  you  some  questions,  Hattie.  Good-bye!"  With 
another  cheery  smile  and  a  nod  to  Mr.  Smith,  she 
disappeared  into  the  house.  A  minute  later  Mr. 
Smith  saw  her  hurrying  down  a  side  path  to  the  street. 

"You  called  to  ask  some  questions?"  Mrs.  Blais 
dell  sank  languidly  into  a  chair. 

"About  the  Blaisdell  family  —  yes.  But  perhaps 
another  day,  when  you  are  feeling  better,  Mrs.  Blais 
dell." 

"Oh,  no."  She  smiled  a  little  more  cordially.  "I 
can  answer  to-day  as  well  as  any  time  —  though  I  'm 
not  sure  I  can  tell  you  very  much,  ever.  I  think  it's 

48 


IX  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES 

fine  you  are  making  the  book,  though.  Some  way  it 
gives  a  family  such  a  standing,  to  be  written  up  like 
that.  Don't  you  think  so?  And  the  Blaisdells  are 
really  a  very  nice  family  —  one  of  the  oldest  in  Hiller- 
ton,  though,  of  course,  they  have  n't  much  money." 

"I  ought  to  find  a  good  deal  of  material  here,  then, 
if  they  have  lived  here  so  long." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Xow,  what  can  I  tell  you?  Of 
course  I  can  tell  you  about  my  own  family.  My  hus 
band  is  in  the  real  estate  business.  You  knew  that, 
did  n't  you?  Perhaps  you  see  'The  Real  Estate  Jour 
nal.'  His  picture  was  in  it  a  year  ago  last  June.  There 
was  a  write-up  on  Hillerton.  I  was  in  it,  too,  though 
there  was  n't  much  about  me.  But  I  Ve  got  other 
clippings  with  more,  if  you'd  like  to  see  them  — 
where  I've  poured,  and  been  hostess,  and  all  that, 
you  know." 

Mr.  Smith  took  out  his  notebook  and  pencil. 

"Let  me  see,  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  your  husband's  father's 
name  was  Rufus,  I  believe.  What  was  his  mother's 
maiden  name,  please?" 

"His  mother's  maiden  name?  Oh,  'Elizabeth.'  Our 
little  girl  is  named  for  her  —  Bessie,  you  know  —  you 
saw  her  last  night.  Jim  wanted  to,  so  I  let  him.  It's 
a  pretty  name  —  Elizabeth  —  still,  it  sounds  a  little 
old-fashioned  now,  don't  you  think?  Of  course  we 
are  anxious  to  have  everything  just  right  for  our 
daughter.  A  young  lady  soon  coming  out,  so,  —  you 
can't  be  too  particular.  That's  one  reason  why  I 
wanted  to  get  over  here  —  on  the  West  Side,  I  mean. 
Everybody  who  is  anybody  lives  on  the  West  Side  in 
Hillerton.  You'll  soon  find  that  out." 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt!  And  your  mother  Blais- 
dell's  surname?"  Mr.  Smith's  pencil  was  poised  over 
the  open  notebook. 

"Surname?  Mother  Blaisdell's?  Oh,  before  she 
was  married.  I  see.  But,  dear  me,  I  don't  know.  I 
suppose  Jim  will,  or  Flora,  or  maybe  Frank  —  though 
I  don't  believe  he  will,  unless  her  folks  kept  groceries. 
Did  you  ever  see  anybody  that  did  n't  know  anything 
but  groceries  like  Frank  Blaisdell?"  The  lady  sighed 
and  shrugged  her  somewhat  heavy  shoulders  with  an 
expressive  glance. 

Mr.  Smith  smiled  understandingly. 

"Oh,  well,  it's  good  —  to  be  interested  in  one's 
business,  you  know." 

"But  such  a  business!"  murmured  the  lady,  with 
another  shrug. 

"Then  you  can't  tell  me  Mrs.  Rufus  Blaisdell's  sur 
name?" 

"No.  But  Jim--  Oh,  I '11  tell  you  who  will  know," 
she  broke  off  interestedly;  "and  that's  Maggie  Duff. 
You  saw  her  here  a  few  minutes  ago,  you  know. 
Father  Duff's  got  all  of  Mother  Blaisdell's  papers  and 
diaries.  Oh,  Maggie  can  tell  you  a  lot  of  things.  Poor 
Maggie!  Benny  says  if  we  want  anything  we  ask  Aunt 
Maggie,  and  I  don't  know  but  he's  right.  And  here 
I  am,  sending  you  to  her,  so  soon!" 

"Very  well,  then,"  smiled  Mr.  Smith.  "I  don't  see 
but  what  I  shall  have  to  interview  Miss  Maggie,  and 
Miss  Flora.  Is  there  nothing  more,  then,  that  you 
can  tell  me?" 

"Well,  there's  Fred,  my  son.  You  haven't  seen 
bun  yet.  We're  very  proud  of  Fred.  He's  at  the 

5Q 


IN  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES 

head  of  his  class,  and  he's  going  to  college  and  be  a 
lawyer.  And  that's  another  reason  why  I  wanted  to 
come  over  to  this  side  —  on  Fred's  account.  I  want 
him  to  meet  the  right  sort  of  people.  You  know  it 
helps  so  much !  We  think  we  're  going  to  have  Fred  a 
big  man  some  day." 

"And  he  was  born,  when?"  Mr.  Smith's  pencil 
was  still  poised  above  an  almost  entirely  blank  page. 

"He's  seventeen.  He'll  be  eighteen  the  tenth  of 
next  month." 

"And  Miss  Bessie,  and  Benny?" 

"Oh,  she's  sixteen.  She'll  be  seventeen  next  win 
ter.  She  wants  to  come  out  then,  but  I  think  I  shall 
wait  —  a  little,  she's  so  very  young;  though  Gussie 
Pennock's  out,  and  she 's  only  seventeen,  and  the  Pen- 
nocks  are  some  of  our  very  best  people.  They're  the 
richest  folks  in  town,  you  know." 

"And  Benny  was  born  —  when?" 

"He's  eight  —  or  rather  nine,  next  Tuesday.  Dear 
me,  Mr.  Smith,  don't  you  want  anything  but  dates? 
They're  tiresome  things,  I  think, — make  one  feel  so 
old,  you  know,  and  it  shows  up  how  many  years  you've 
been  married.  Don't  you  think  so?  But  maybe  you  're 
a  bachelor." 

"Yes,  I'm  a  bachelor." 

"Are  you,  indeed?  Well,  you  miss  a  lot,  of  course, 
—  home  and  wife  and  children.  Still,  you  gain  some 
things.  You  are  n't  tied  down,  and  you  don't  have 
so  much  to  worry  about.  Is  your  mother  living,  or 
your  father?" 

"No.  I  have  no  —  near  relatives."  Mr.  Smith 
stirred  a  little  uneasily,  and  adjusted  his  book.  "Per- 

51 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

haps,  now,  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  you  can  give  me  your  own 
maiden  name." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can  give  you  that!"  She  laughed  and 
bridled  self-consciously.  "But  you  needn't  ask  when 
I  was  born,  for  I  shan't  tell  you,  if  you  do.  My  name 
was  Hattie  Snow." 

"'Harriet,'  I  presume."  Mr.  Smith's  pencil  was 
busily  at  work. 

"Yes  —  Harriet  Snow.  And  the  Snows  were  just  as 
good  as  the  Blaisdells,  if  I  do  say  it.  There  were  a  lot 
that  .wanted  me  —  oh,  I  was  pretty  then,  Mr.  Smith." 
She  laughed,  and  bridled  again  self-consciously.  "But 
I  took  Jim.  He  was  handsome  then,  very  —  big 
dark  eyes  and  dark  hair,  and  so  dreamy  and  poetical- 
looking;  and  there  was  n't  a  girl  that  had  n't  set  her 
cap  for  him.  And  he's  been  a  good  husband  to  me.  To 
be  sure,  he  is  n't  quite  so  ambitious  as  he  might  be, 
perhaps.  I  always  did  believe  in  being  somebody, 
and  getting  somewhere.  Don't  you?  But  Jim  —  he's 
always  for  hanging  back  and  saying  how  much  it'll 
cost.  Ten  to  one  he  does  n't  end  up  by  saying  we 
can't  afford  it.  He's  like  Jane,  —  Frank's  wife,  where 
you  board,  you  know,  —  only  Jane's  worse  than  Jim 
ever  thought  of  being.  She  won't  spend  even  what 
she's  got.  If  she's  got  ten  dollars,  she  won't  spend  but 
five  cents,  if  she  can  help  it.  Now,  I  believe  in  taking 
some  comfort  as  you  go  along.  But  Jane  —  greatest 
saver  I  ever  did  see.  Better  look  out,  Mr.  Smith, 
that  she  does  n't  try  to  save  feeding  you  at  all ! "  she 
finished  merrily. 

"I'm  not  worrying!"  Mr.  Smith  smiled  cheerily, 
snapped  his  book  shut  and  got  to  his  feet. 

52 


IN  SEARCH  OF  SOME  DATES 

"Oh,  won't  you  wait  for  Mr.  Blaisdell?  He  can 
tell  you  more,  I  'm  sure." 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you.  At  his  office,  some  time, 
I'll  see  Mr.  Blaisdell,"  murmured  Mr.  Smith,  with 
an  odd  haste.  "But  I  thank  you  very  much,  Mrs. 
Blaisdell,"  he  bowed  in  farewell. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

IT  was  the  next  afternoon  that  Mr.  Smith  inquired 
his  way  to  the  home  of  Miss  Flora  Blaisdell.  He 
found  it  to  be  a  shabby  little  cottage  on  a  side  street. 
Miss  Flora  herself  answered  his  knock,  peering  at  him 
anxiously  with  her  near-sighted  eyes. 

Mr.  Smith  lifted  his  hat. 

"Good-afternoon,  Miss  Blaisdell,"  he  began  with 
a  deferential  bow.  "I  am  wondering  if  you  could  tell 
me  something  of  your  father's  family." 

Miss  Flora,  plainly  pleased,  but  flustered,  stepped 
back  for  him  to  enter. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  come  in,  come  in!  I'm  sure  I'm 
glad  to  tell  you  anything  I  know,"  she  beamed,  ushering 
him  into  the  unmistakably  little-used  "front  room." 
"But  you  really  ought  to  go  to  Maggie.  I  can  tell 
you  some  things,  but  Maggie  's  got  the  Bible.  Mother 
had  it,  you  know,  and  it 's  all  among  her  things.  And 
of  course  we  had  to  let  it  stay,  as  long  as  Father  Duff 
lives.  He  does  n't  want  anything  touched.  Poor 
Maggie  —  she  tried  to  get  'em  for  us;  but,  mercy! 
she  never  tried  but  once.  But  I've  got  some  things. 
I've  got  pictures  of  a  lot  of  them,  and  most  of  them 
I  know  quite  a  lot  about." 

As  she  spoke  she  picked  up  from  the  table  a  big 
red  plush  photograph  album.  Seating  herself  at  his 

54 


IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

side  she  opened  it,  and  began  to  tell  him  of  the  pic 
tures,  one  by  one. 

She  did,  indeed,  know  "quite  a  lot"  of  most  of 
them.  Tintypes,  portraying  stiffly  held  hands  and 
staring  eyes,  ghostly  reproductions  of  daguerreotypes 
of  stern-lipped  men  and  women,  in  old-time  stock 
and  kerchief;  photographs  of  stilted  family  groups 
after  the  "  he-is-mine-and-I-am-his  "  variety;  snap 
shots  of  adorable  babies  with  blurred  thumbs  and 
noses  —  never  had  Mr.  John  Smith  seen  their  like 
before. 

Politely  he  listened.  Busily,  from  time  to  time,  he 
jotted  down  a  name  or  date.  Then,  suddenly,  as  she 
turned  a  page,  he  gave  an  involuntary  start.  He 
was  looking  at  a  pictured  face,  evidently  cut  from  a 
magazine. 

"Why,  what  —  who  — "  he  stammered. 

"That?  Oh,  that's  Mr.  Fulton,  the  millionaire, 
you  know."  Miss  Flora's  hands  fluttered  over  the  page 
a  little  importantly,  adjusting  a  corner  of  the  print. 
"You  must  have  seen  his  picture.  It's  been  every 
where.  He's  our  cousin,  too." 

"Oh,  is  he?" 

"Yes,  'way  back  somewhere.  I  can't  tell  you  just 
how,  only  I  know  he  is.  His  mother  was  a  Blaisdell. 
That's  why  I've  always  been  so  interested  in  him, 
and  read  everything  I  could  —  in  the  papers  and  mag 
azines,  you  know." 

"Oh,  I  see."  Mr.  John  Smith's  voice  had  become 
a  little  uncertain. 

"Yes.  He  ain't  very  handsome,  is  he?"  Miss 
Flora's  eyes  were  musingly  fixed  on  the  picture  before 

55 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

her  —  which  was   well,  perhaps:  Mr.   John   Smith's 
face  was  a  study  just  then. 

"Er  —  n-no,  he  is  n't." 

"But  he's  turribly  rich,  I  s'pose.  I  wonder  how  it 
feels  to  have  so  much  money." 

There  being  no  reply  to  this,  Miss  Flora  went  on, 
after  a  moment. 

"It  must  be  awful  nice  —  to  buy  what  you  want, 
I  mean,  without  fretting  about  how  much  it  costs.  I 
never  did.  But  I'd  like  to." 

"What  would  you  do  —  if  you  could  —  if  you  had 
the  money,  I  mean?"  queried  Mr.  Smith,  almost  ea 
gerly. 

Miss  Flora  laughed. 

"Well,  there's  three  things  I  know  I'd  do.  They're 
silly,  of  course,  but  they  're  what  I  want.  It 's  a  phony- 
graph,  and  to  see  Niagara  Falls,  and  to  go  into  Noell's 
restaurant  and  order  what  I  want  without  even  look 
ing  at  the  prices  after  'em.  Now  you're  laughing  at 
me!" 

"Laughing?  Not  a  bit  of  it!"  There  was  a  curious 
elation  in  Mr.  Smith's  voice.  "What's  more,  I  hope 
you  '11  get  them  —  some  time." 

Miss  Flora  sighed.  Her  face  looked  suddenly 
pinched  and  old. 

"I  shan't.  I  could  n't,  you  know.  Why,  if  I  had 
the  money,  I  should  n't  spend  it  —  not  for  them 
things.  I'd  be  needing  shoes  or  a  new  dress.  And  I 
could  n't  be  so  rich  I  would  n't  notice  what  the  prices 
was  —  of  what  I  ate.  But,  then,  I  don't  believe  any 
body 's  that,  not  even  him."  She  pointed  to  the  pic 
ture  still  open  before  them. 

56 


IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

"No?"  Mr.  Smith,  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  picture, 
was  looking  thoughtful.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man  to 
whom  has  come  a  brand-new,  somewhat  disconcerting 
idea. 

Miss  Flora,  glancing  from  the  man  to  the  picture, 
and  back  again,  gave  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"There,  now  I  know  who  it  is  that  you  remind  me 
of,  Mr.  Smith.  It's  him  —  Mr.  Fulton,  there." 

"Eh?  What?"  Mr.  Smith  looked  not  a  little  star 
tled. 

"Something  about  the  eyes  and  nose."  Miss  Flora 
was  still  interestedly  comparing  the  man  and  the  pic 
ture.  "But,  then,  that  ain't  so  strange.  You're  a 
Blaisdell  yourself.  Did  n't  you  say  you  was  a  Blais- 
dell?" 

"Er  —  y-yes,  oh,  yes.  I'm  a  Blaisdell,"  nodded 
Mr.  Smith  hastily.  "Very  likely  I've  got  the  —  er  — 
Blaisdell  nose.  Eh?"  Then  he  turned  a  leaf  of  the 
album  abruptly,  decidedly.  "And  who  may  this  be?" 
he  demanded,  pointing  to  the  tintype  of  a  bright- 
faced  young  girl. 

"That?  Oh,  that's  my  cousin  Grace  when  she  was 
sixteen.  She  died;  but  she  was  a  wonderful  girl.  I'll 
tell  you  about  her." 

"Yes,  do,"  urged  Mr.  Smith;  and  even  the  closest 
observer,  watching  his  face,  could  not  have  said  that 
he  was  not  absorbedly  interested  in  Miss  Flora's 
story  of  "my  cousin  Grace." 

It  was  not  until  the  last  leaf  of  the  album  was 
reached  that  they  came  upon  the  picture  of  a  small 
girl,  with  big,  hungry  eyes  looking  out  from  beneath 
long  lashes. 

57 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"That's  Mellicent  —  where  you're  boarding,  you 
know  —  when  she  was  little."  Miss  Flora  frowned 
disapprovingly.  "But  it's  horrid,  poor  child!" 

"But  she  looks  so  —  so  sad,"  murmured  Mr.  Smith. 

"Yes,  I  know.  She  always  did."  Miss  Flora  sighed 
and  frowned  again.  She  hesitated,  then  burst  out, 
as  if  irresistibly  impelled  from  within.  "It's  only  just 
another  case  of  never  having  what  you  want  when  you 
want  it,  Mr.  Smith.  And  it  ain't  'cause  they're  poor, 
either.  They  ain't  poor  —  not  like  me,  I  mean. 
Frank's  always  done  well,  and  he's  been  a  good  pro 
vider;  but  it's  my  sister-in-law  —  her  way,  I  mean. 
Not  that  I'm  saying  anything  against  Jane.  I  ain't. 
She's  a  good  woman,  and  she's  very  kind  to  me.  She's 
always  saying  what  she'd  do  for  me  if  she  only  had 
the  money.  She's  a  good  housekeeper,  too,  and  her 
house  is  as  neat  as  wax.  But  it's  just  that  she  never 
thinks  she  can  use  anything  she's  got  till  it's  so  out 
of  date  she  don't  want  it.  I  dressmake  for  her,  you 
see,  so  I  know  —  about  her  sleeves  and  skirts,  you 
know.  And  if  she  ever  does  wear  a  decent  thing  she's 
so  afraid  it  will  rain  she  never  takes  any  comfort  in  it! " 

"Well,  that  is  —  unfortunate." 

"Yes,  ain't  it?  And  she's  brought  up  that  poor 
child  the  same  way.  Why,  from  babyhood,  Mellicent 
never  had  her  rattles  till  she  wanted  blocks,  nor  her 
blocks  till  she  wanted  dolls,  nor  her  dolls  till  she  was 
big  enough  for  beaus!  And  that's  what  made  the  poor 
child  always  look  so  wall-eyed  and  hungry.  She  was 
hungry  —  even  if  she  did  get  enough  to  eat." 

"Mrs.  Blaisdell  probably  believed  in  —  er  —  econ 
omy,"  hazarded  Mr.  Smith. 

58 


IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

"Economy!  My  stars,  I  should  think  she  did!  But, 
there,  I  ought  not  to  have  said  anything,  of  course. 
It 's  a  good  trait.  I  only  wish  some  other  folks  I  could 
mention  had  more  of  it.  There's  Jim's  wife,  for  in 
stance.  Now,  if  she's  got  ten  cents,  she'll  spend  fif 
teen  —  and  five  more  to  show  how  she  spent  it.  She 
and  Jane  ought  to  be  shaken  up  in  a  bag  together. 
Why,  Mr.  Smith,  Jane  does  n't  let  herself  enjoy  any 
thing.  She's  always  keeping  it  for  a  better  time. 
Though  sometimes  I  think  she  does  enjoy  just  seeing 
how  far  she  can  make  a  dollar  go.  But  Mellicent  don't, 
nor  Frank;  and  it's  hard  on  them." 

"I  should  say  it  might  be."  Mr.  Smith  was  looking 
at  the  wistful  eyes  under  the  long  lashes. 

'  'T  is ;  and  't  ain't  right,  I  believe.  There  is  such 
a  thing  as  being  too  economical.  I  tell  Jane  she'll  be 
like  a  story  I  read  once  about  a  man  who  pinched  and 
saved  all  his  life,  not  even  buying  peanuts,  though 
he  just  doted  on  'em.  And  when  he  did  get  rich,  so 
he  could  buy  the  peanuts,  he  bought  a  big  bag  the 
first  thing.  But  he  did  n't  eat  'em.  He  had  n't  got 
any  teeth  left  to  chew  *em  with." 

"Well,  that  was  a  catastrophe!"  laughed  Mr. 
Smith,  as  he  pocketed  his  notebook  and  rose  to  his 
feet.  "And  now  I  thank  you  very  much,  Miss  Blais- 
dell,  for  the  help  you've  been  to  me." 

"Oh,  you're  quite  welcome,  indeed  you  are,  Mr. 
Smith,"  beamed  Miss  Blaisdell.  "It's  done  me  good, 
just  to  talk  to  you  about  all  these  folks  and  pictures. 
I  've  enjoyed  it.  I  do  get  lonesome  sometimes,  all  alone, 
so!  and  I  ain't  so  busy  as  I  wish  I  was,  always.  But 
I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  helped  you  much  —  just  this." 

59 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have  —  perhaps  more  than  you 
think,"  smiled  the  man,  with  an  odd  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Have  I?  Well,  I'm  glad,  I'm  sure.  And  don't 
forget  to  go  to  Maggie's,  now.  She'll  have  a  lot  to 
tell  you.  Poor  Maggie !  And  she  '11  be  so  glad  to  show 
you!" 

"All  right,  thank  you;  I'll  surely  interview  —  Miss 
Maggie,"  smiled  the  man  in  good-bye. 

He  had  almost  said  "poor"  Maggie  himself,  though 
why  she  should  be  poor  Maggie  had  come  to  be  an 
all-absorbing  question  with  him.  He  had  been  tempted 
once  to  ask  Miss  Flora,  but  something  had  held  him 
back.  That  evening  at  the  supper  table,  however,  in 
talking  with  Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell,  the  question  came 
again  to  his  lips;  and  this  time  it  found  utterance. 

Mrs.  Jane  herself  had  introduced  Miss  Maggie's 
name,  and  had  said  an  inconsequential  something 
about  her  when  Mr.  Smith  asked :  — 

"Mrs.  Blaisdell,  please,  —  may  I  ask?  I  must  con 
fess  to  a  great  curiosity  as  to  why  Miss  Duff  is  always 
'poor  Maggie.' ' 

Mrs.  Blaisdell  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Why,  really,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  "only 
it  just  comes  natural,  that's  all.  Poor  Maggie's  been 
so  unfortunate.  There!  I  did  it  again,  did  n't  I?  That 
only  goes  to  show  how  we  all  do  it,  unconsciously." 

Frank  Blaisdell,  across  the  table,  gave  a  sudden 
emphatic  sniff. 

"Humph!  Well,  I  guess  if  you  had  to  live  with 
Father  Duff,  Jane,  it  would  be  'poor  Jane*  with  you, 
all  right!" 

"Yes,  I  know."  His  wife  sighed  complacently. 

CO 


IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

"Father  Duff's  a  trial,  and  no  mistake.  But  Maggie 
does  n't  seem  to  mind." 

"Mind!  Aunt  Maggie's  a  saint  —  that's  what  she 
is!"  It  was  Mellicent  who  spoke,  her  young  voice 
vibrant  with  suppressed  feeling.  "She's  the  dearest 
thing  ever !  There  could  n't  be  anybody  better  than 
Aunt  Maggie ! " 

Nothing  more  was  said  just  then,  but  in  the  evening, 
later,  after  Mellicent  had  gone  to  walk  with  young 
Pennock,  and  her  father  had  gone  back  down  to  the 
store,  Mrs.  Blaisdell  took  up  the  matter  of  "Poor 
Maggie"  again. 

"I've  been  thinking  what  you  said,"  she  began, 
"about  our  calling  her  'poor  Maggie/  and  I've  made 
up  my  mind  it's  because  we're  all  so  sorry  for  her. 
You  see,  she's  been  so  unfortunate,  as  I  said.  Poor 
Maggie!  I've  so  often  wished  there  was  something  I 
could  do  for  her.  Of  course,  if  we  only  had  money  — 
but  we  haven't;  so  I  can't.  And  even  money  would 
n't  take  away  her  father,  either.  Oh,  mercy !  I  did  n't 
mean  that,  really,  —  not  the  way  it  sounded,"  broke 
off  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  in  shocked  apology.  "I  only  meant 
that  she'd  have  her  father  to  care  for,  just  the  same." 

"He's  something  of  a  trial,  I  take  it,  eh?"  smiled 
Mr.  Smith. 

"Trial!  I  should  say  he  was.  Poor  Maggie!  How 
ever  she  endures  it,  I  can't  imagine.  Of  course,  we 
call  him  Father  Duff,  but  he 's  really  not  any  relation 
to  us  —  I  mean  to  Frank  and  the  rest.  But  their 
mother  married  him  when  they  were  children,  and 
they  never  knew  their  own  father  much,  so  he's  the 
only  father  they  know.  When  their  mother  died, 

61 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Maggie  had  just  entered  college.  She  was  eighteen, 
and  such  a  pretty  girl !  I  knew  the  family  even  then. 
Frank  was  just  beginning  to  court  me. 

"Well,  of  course  Maggie  had  to  come  home  right 
away.  None  of  the  rest  wanted  to  take  care  of  him, 
and  Maggie  had  to.  There  was  another  Duff  sister 
then  —  a  married  sister  (she's  died  since),  but  she 
would  n't  take  him,  so  Maggie  had  to.  Of  course, 
none  of  the  Blaisdells  wanted  the  care  of  him  —  and 
he  was  n't  their  father,  anyway.  Frank  was  wanting 
to  marry  me,  and  Jim  and  Flora  were  in  school  and 
wanted  to  stay  there,  of  course.  So  Maggie  came. 
Poor  girl !  It  was  real  hard  for  her.  She  was  so  ambi 
tious,  and  so  fond  of  books.  But  she  came,  and  went 
right  into  the  home  and  kept  it  so  Frank  and  Jim  and 
Flora  could  live  there  just  the  same  as  when  their 
mother  was  alive.  And  she  had  to  do  all  the  work,  too. 
They  were  too  poor  to  keep  a  girl.  Kind  of  hard, 
was  n't  it?  —  and  Maggie  only  eighteen!" 

"It  was,  indeed!"  Mr.  Smith's  lips  came  together  a 
bit  grimly. 

"  Well,  after  a  time  Frank  and  Jim  married,  and  there 
was  only  Flora  and  Father  Duff  at  home.  Poor  Maggie 
tried  then  to  go  to  college  again.  She  was  over  twenty- 
one,  and  supposed  to  be  her  own  mistress,  of  course. 
She  found  a  place  where  she  could  work  and  pay  her 
way  through  college,  and  Flora  said  she'd  keep  the 
house  and  take  care  of  Father  Duff.  But,  dear  me; 
it  was  n't  a  month  before  that  ended,  and  Maggie 
had  to  come  home  again.  Flora  was  n't  strong,  and 
the  work  fretted  her.  Besides,  she  never  could  get 
along  with  Father  Duff,  and  she  was  trying  to  learn 

62 


IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

dressmaking,  too.  She  stuck  it  out  till  she  got  sick, 
though,  then  of  course  Maggie  had  to  come  back/' 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Smith. 

"Yes,  wasn't  it  too  bad?  Poor  Maggie,  she  tried 
it  twice  again.  She  persuaded  her  father  to  get  a  girl. 
But  that  did  n't  work,  either.  The  first  girl  and  her 
father  fought  like  cats  and  dogs,  and  the  last  time  she 
got  one  her  father  was  taken  sick,  and  again  she  had 
to  come  home.  Some  way,  it 's  always  been  that  way 
with  poor  Maggie.  No  sooner  does  she  reach  out  to 
take  something  than  it's  snatched  away,  just  as  she 
thinks  she's  got  it.  Why,  there  was  her  father's 
cousin  George  —  he  was  going  to  help  her  once.  But  a 
streak  of  bad  luck  hit  him  at  just  that  minute,  and 
he  gave  out." 

"And  he  never  tried  —  again?" 

"No.  He  went  to  Alaska  then.  Has  n't  ever  been 
back  since.  He's  done  well,  too,  they  say,  and  I  al 
ways  thought  he'd  send  back  something;  but  he  never 
has.  There  was  some  trouble,  I  believe,  between  him 
and  Father  Duff  at  the  time  he  went  to  Alaska,  so 
that  explains  it,  probably.  Anyway,  he's  never  done 
anything  for  them.  Well,  when  he  gave  out,  Maggie 
just  gave  up  college  then,  and  settled  down  to  take 
care  of  her  father,  though  I  guess  she 's  always  studied 
some  at  home;  and  I  know  that  for  years  she  did  n't 
give  up  hope  but  that  she  could  go  some  time.  But  I 
guess  she  has  now.  Poor  Maggie!" 

"How  old  is  she?" 

"Why,  let  me  see  —  forty- three,  forty-four — •  yes, 
she's  forty-five.  She  had  her  forty- third  birthday 
here  —  I  remember  I  gave  her  a  handkerchief  for  a 

63 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

birthday  present  —  when  she  was  helping  me  take 
care  of  Mellicent  through  the  pneumonia;  and  that 
was  two  years  ago.  She  used  to  come  here  and  to 
Jim's  and  Flora's  days  at  a  time;  but  she  is  n't  quite 
so  free  as  she  was  —  Father  Duff 's  worse  now,  and 
she  don't  like  to  leave  him  nights,  much,  so  she  can't 
come  to  us  so  often.  See?" 

"Yes,  I  —  see."  There  was  a  queer  something  in 
Mr.  Smith's  voice.  "And  just  what  is  the  matter  with 
Mr.  Duff?" 

"Matter!"  Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell  gave  a  short  laugh 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Everything's  the  mat 
ter —  with  Father  Duff!  Oh,  it's  nerves,  mostly,  the 
doctor  says,  and  there  are  some  other  things  —  long 
names  that  I  can't  remember.  But,  as  I  said,  every 
thing's  the  matter  with  Father  Duff.  He's  one  of 
those  men  where  there  is  n't  anything  quite  right. 
Frank  says  he's  got  so  he  just  objects  to  everything 
—  on  general  principles.  If  it's  blue,  he  says  it  ought 
to  be  black,  you  know.  And,  really,  I  don't  know  but 
Frank's  right.  How  Maggie  stands  him  I  don't  see; 
but  she's  devotion  itself.  Why,  she  even  gave  up 
her  lover  years  ago,  for  him.  She  would  n't  leave  her 
father,  and,  of  course,  nobody  would  think  of  taking 
him  into  the  family,  when  he  was  n't  born  into  it,  so 
the  affair  was  broken  off.  I  don't  know,  really,  as  Mag 
gie  cared  much.  Still,  you  can't  tell.  She  never  was 
one  to  carry  her  heart  on  her  sleeve.  Poor  Maggie! 
I've  always  so  wished  I  could  do  something  for  her! 

"There,  how  I  have  run  on!  But,  then,  you  asked, 
and  you  're  interested,  I  know,  and  that 's  what  you  're 
here  for  —  to  find  out  about  the  Blaisdells." 

64 


IN  MISS  FLORA'S  ALBUM 

"To  —  to  —  f-find  out — "  stammered  Mr.  Smith, 
grown  suddenly  very  red. 

"Yes,  for  your  book,  I  mean." 

"Oh,  yes  —  of  course;  for  my  book,"  agreed  Mr. 
Smith,  a  bit  hastily.  He  had  the  guilty  air  of  a  small 
boy  who  has  almost  been  caught  in  a  raid  on  the 
cooky  jar. 

"And  although  poor  Maggie  is  n't  really  a  Blaisdell 
herself,  she's  nearly  one;  and  they've  got  lots  of  Blais 
dell  records  down  there  —  among  Mother  Blaisdell's 
things,  you  know.  You  '11  want  to  see  those." 

"Yes;  yes,  indeed.  I'll  want  to  see  those,  of  course," 
declared  Mr.  Smith,  rising  to  his  feet,  preparatory  to 
going  to  his  own  room. 


CHAPTER  VI 

POOR   MAGGIE 

IT  was  some  days  later  that  Mr.  Smith  asked  Benny 
one  afternoon  to  show  him  the  way  to  Miss  Maggie 
Duff's  home. 

"Sure  I  will,"  agreed  Benny  with  alacrity.  "You 
don't  ever  have  ter  do  any  teasin'  ter  get  me  ter  go 
ter  Aunt  Maggie's." 

"You're  fond  of  Aunt  Maggie,  then,  I  take  it." 

Benny's  eyes  widened  a  little. 

"Why,  of  course!  Everybody's  fond  of  Aunt 
Maggie.  Why,  I  don't  know  anybody  that  don't  like 
Aunt  Maggie." 

"I'm  sure  that  speaks  well  —  for  Aunt  Maggie," 
smiled  Mr.  Smith. 

"Yep!  A  feller  can  take  some  comfort  at  Aunt 
Maggie's,"  continued  Benny,  trudging  along  at  Mr. 
Smith's  side.  "She  don't  have  anythin'  just  for  show, 
that  you  can't  touch,  like  't  is  at  my  house,  and  there 
ain't  anythin'  but  what  you  can  use  without  gettin' 
snarled  up  in  a  mess  of  covers  an'  tidies,  like  't  is  at 
Aunt  Jane's.  But  Aunt  Maggie  don't  save  anythin', 
Aunt  Jane  says,  an'  she'll  die  some  day  in  the  poor- 
house,  bein'  so  extravagant.  But  I  don't  believe  she 
will.  Do  you,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"Well,  really,  Benny,  I — er — "  hesitated  the 
man. 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  she  will,"  repeated  Benny. 

66 


POOR  MAGGIE 

"I  hope  she  won't,  anyhow.    Poorhouses  ain't  very 
nice,  are  they?" 

"I  —  I  don't  think  I  know  very  much  about  them, 
Benny." 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  they  are,  from  what  Aunt 
Jane  says.  And  if  they  ain't,  I  don't  want  Aunt 
Maggie  ter  go.  She  had  n't  ought  ter  have  anythin* 
—  but  Heaven  —  after  Grandpa  Duff.  Do  you  know 
Grandpa  Duff?" 

"No,  my  b-boy."  Mr.  Smith  was  choking  over  a 
cough. 

"He's  sick.  He's  got  a  chronic  grouch,  ma  says. 
Do  you  know  what  that  is?" 

"I  —  I  have  heard  of  them." 

"What  are  they?  Anything  like  chronic  rheuma 
tism.?  I  know  what  chronic  means.  It  means  it  keeps 
goin'  without  stoppin'  —  the  rheumatism,  I  mean, 
not  the  folks  that's  got  it.  They  don't  go  at  all,  some 
times.  Old  Dr.  Cole  don't,  and  that's  what  he's  got. 
But  when  I  asked  ma  what  a  grouch  was,  she  said 
little  boys  should  be  seen  and  not  heard.  Ma  always 
says  that  when  she  don't  want  to  answer  my  ques 
tions.  Do  you?  Have  you  got  any  little  boys,  Mr. 
Smith?" 

"No,  Benny.  I'm  a  poor  old  bachelor." 

"Oh,  are  you  poor,  too?  That's  too  bad." 

"Well,  that  is,  I  — I—" 

"Ma  was  wonderin'  yesterday  what  you  lived  on. 
Have  n't  you  got  any  money,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Benny,  I've  got  money  enough  —  to 
live  on."  Mr.  Smith  spoke  promptly,  and  with  con 
fidence  this  time. 

67 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Oh,  that's  nice.  You're  glad,  then,  ain't  you? 
Ma  says  we  have  n't  —  got  enough  ter  live  on,  I  mean ; 
but  pa  says  we  have,  if  we  did  n't  try  ter  live  like 
everybody  else  lives  what's  got  more." 

Mr.  Smith  bit  his  lip,  and  looked  down  a  little  appre 
hensively  at  the  small  boy  at  his  side. 

"I  —  I'm  not  sure,  Benny,  but  /  shall  have  to  say 
little  boys  should  be  seen  and  not  —  He  stopped 
abruptly.  Benny,  with  a  stentorian  shout,  had  run 
ahead  to  a  gate  before  a  small  white  cottage.  On 
the  cozy,  vine-shaded  porch  sat  a  white-haired  old  man 
leaning  forward  on  his  cane. 

"Hi,  there,  Grandpa  Duff,  I've  brought  somebody 
ter  see  ye!"  The  gate  was  open  now,  and  Benny  was 
halfway  up  the  short  walk.  "It's  Mr.  Smith.  Come 
in,  Mr.  Smith.  Here's  grandpa  right  here." 

With  a  pleasant  smile  Mr.  Smith  doffed  his  hat  and 
came  forward. 

"Thank  you,  Benny.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Duff?" 

The  man  on  the  porch  looked  up  sharply  from  be 
neath  heavy  brows. 

"Humph!  Your  name's  Smith,  is  it?" 

"That's  what  they  call  me."   The  corners  of  Mr. 
Smith's  mouth  twitched  a  little. 
.    "Humph!  Yes,  I've  heard  of  you." 

"Yrou  flatter  me!"  Mr.  Smith,  on  the  topmost  step, 
hesitated.  "Is  your  —  er  —  daughter  in,  Mr.  Duff?" 
He  was  still  smiling  cheerfully. 

Mr.  Duff  was  not  smiling.  His  somewhat  unfriendly 
gaze  was  still  bent  upon  the  newcomer. 

"Just  what  do  you  want  of  my  daughter?" 

"Why,    I  —  I — "     Plainly    nonplused,  the    man 

68 


POOR  MAGGIE 

paused  uncertainly.  Then,  with  a  resumption  of  his 
jaunty  cheerfulness,  he  smiled  straight  into  the  un 
friendly  eyes.  "I'm  after  some  records,  Mr.  Duff,  — 
records  of  the  Blaisdell  family.  I  'm  compiling  a  book 
on—" 

"Humph!  I  thought  as  much,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Duff  curtly,  settling  back  in  his  chair.  "As  I  said,  I  Ve 
heard  of  you.  But  you  need  n't  come  here  asking 
your  silly  questions.  I  shan't  tell  you  a  thing,  any 
way,  if  you  do.  It's  none  of  your  business  who  lived 
and  died  and  what  they  did  before  you  were  born.  If 
the  Lord  had  wanted  you  to  know  he'd  'a'  put  you 
here  then  instead  of  now!" 

Looking  very  much  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  in 
the  face,  Mr.  Smith  fell  back. 

"Aw,  grandpa"  —began  Benny,  in  grieved  expos 
tulation.  But  a  cheery  voice  interrupted,  and  Mr. 
Smith  turned  to  see  Miss  Maggie  Duff  emerging  from 
the  doorway. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  how  do  you  do?"  she  greeted  him, 
extending  a  cordial  hand.  "Come  up  and  sit  down." 

For  only  the  briefest  of  minutes  he  hesitated.  Had 
she  heard?  Could  she  have  heard,  and  yet  speak  so 
unconcernedly?  It  seemed  impossible.  And  yet  — 
He  took  the  chair  she  offered  —  but  with  a  furtive 
glance  toward  the  old  man.  He  had  only  a  moment 
to  wait. 

Sharply  Mr.  Duff  turned  to  his  daughter. 

"This  Mr.  Smith  tells  me  he  has  come  to  see  those 
records.  Now,  I  'm  - 

"Oh,  father,  dear,  you  couldn't!"  interrupted  his 
daughter  with  admonishing  earnestness.  "You  must 

69 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

n't  go  and  get  all  those  down!"  (Mr.  Smith  almost 
gasped  aloud  in  his  amazement,  but  Miss  Maggie  did 
not  seem  to  notice  him  at  all.)  "Why,  father,  you 
could  n't  —  they  're  too  heavy  for  you !  There  are 
the  Bible,  and  all  those  papers.  They're  too  heavy, 
father.  I  could  n't  let  you.  Besides,  I  should  n't  think 
you  'd  want  to  get  them ! " 

If  Mr.  Smith,  hearing  this,  almost  gasped  aloud  in 
his  amazement,  he  quite  did  so  at  what  happened 
next.  His  mouth  actually  fell  open  as  he  saw  the  old 
man  rise  to  his  feet  with  stern  dignity. 

"That  will  do,  Maggie.  I'm  not  quite  in  my  dotage 
yet.  I  guess  I'm  still  able  to  fetch  downstairs  a  book 
and  a  bundle  of  papers."  With  his  thumping  cane 
a  resolute  emphasis  to  every  other  step,  the  old  man 
hobbled  into  the  house. 

"There,  grandpa,  that's  the  talk!"  crowed  Benny. 
" But  you  said—  " 

"Er  —  Benny,  dear,"  interposed  Miss  Maggie,  in  a 
haste  so  precipitate  that  it  looked  almost  like  alarm, 
"run  into  the  pantry  and  see  what  you  can  find  in  the 
cooky  jar."  The  last  of  her  sentence  was  addressed 
to  Benny's  flying  heels  as  they  disappeared  through 
the  doorway. 

Left  together,  Mr.  Smith  searched  the  woman's  face 
for  some  hint,  some  sign  that  this  extraordinary  shift- 
about  was  recognized  and  understood;  but  Miss 
Maggie,  with  a  countenance  serenely  expressing  only 
cheerful  interest,  was  over  by  the  little  stand,  re 
arranging  the  pile  of  books  and  newspapers  on  it. 

"I  think,  after  all,"  she  began  thoughtfully,  paus 
ing  in  her  work,  "that  it  will  be  better  indoors.  It 

70 


POOR  MAGGIE 

blows  so  out  here  that  you'll  be  bothered  in  your 
copying,  I  am  afraid." 

She  was  still  standing  at  the  table,  chatting  about 
the  papers,  however,  when  at  the  door,  a  few  minutes 
later,  appeared  her  father,  in  his  arms  a  big  Bible, 
and  a  sizable  pasteboard  box. 

"Right  here,  father,  please,"  she  said  then,  to  Mr. 
Smith's  dumfounded  amazement.  "Just  set  them 
down  right  here." 

The  old  man  frowned  and  cast  disapproving  eyes 
on  his  daughter  and  the  table. 

"There  isn't  room.  I  don't  want  them  there,"  he 
observed  coldly.  "I  shall  put  them  in  here."  With 
the  words  he  turned  back  into  the  house. 

Once  again  Mr.  Smith's  bewildered  eyes  searched 
Miss  Maggie's  face,  and  once  again  they  found  noth 
ing  but  serene  unconcern.  She  was  already  at  the 
door. 

"This  way,  please,"  she  directed  cheerily.  And, 
still  marveling,  he  followed  her  into  the  house. 

Mr.  Smith  thought  he  had  never  seen  so  charming  a 
living-room.  A  comfortable  chair  invited  him,  and  he 
sat  down.  He  felt  suddenly  rested  and  at  home,  and 
at  peace  with  the  world.  Realizing  that,  in  some  way, 
the  room  had  produced  this  effect,  he  looked  curi 
ously  about  him,  trying  to  solve  the  secret  of  it. 

Reluctantly  to  himself  he  confessed  that  it  was  a 
very  ordinary  room.  The  carpet  was  poor,  and  was 
badly  worn.  The  chairs,  while  comfortable  looking, 
were  manifestly  not  expensive,  and  had  seen  long  serv 
ice.  Simple  curtains  were  at  the  windows,  and  a  few 
fair  prints  were  on  the  walls.  Two  or  three  vases,  of 

71 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

good  lines  but  cheap  materials,  held  flowers,  and  there 
was  a  plain  but  roomy  set  of  shelves  filled  with  books 
—  not  immaculate,  leather-backed,  gilt-lettered  "  sets, " 
but  rows  of  dingy,  worn  volumes,  whose  very  shabbi- 
ness  was  at  once  an  invitation  and  a  promise.  No 
where,  however,  could  Mr.  Smith  see  protecting  cover, 
mat,  or  tidy.  He  decided  then  that  this  must  be  why 
he  felt  suddenly  so  rested  and  at  peace  with  all  man 
kind.  Even  as  the  conviction  came  to  him,  however, 
he  was  suddenly  aware  that  everything  was  not,  after 
all,  peaceful  or  harmonious. 

At  the  table  Mr.  Duff  and  his  daughter  were  arrang 
ing  the  Bible  and  the  papers.  Miss  Maggie  suggested 
piles  in  a  certain  order:  her  father  promptly  objected, 
and  arranged  them  otherwise.  Miss  Maggie  placed 
the  papers  first  for  perusal:  her  father  said  "Absurd!" 
and  substituted  the  Bible.  Miss  Maggie  started  to 
draw  up  a  chair  to  the  table:  her  father  derisively 
asked  her  if  she  expected  a  man  to  sit  in  that  —  and 
drew  up  a  different  one.  Yet  Mr.  Smith,  when  he  was 
finally  invited  to  take  a  seat  at  the  table,  found  every 
thing  quite  the  most  convenient  and  comfortable  pos 
sible. 

Once  more  into  Miss  Maggie's  face  he  sent  a  sharply 
inquiring  glance,  and  once  more  he  encountered  noth 
ing  but  unruffled  cheerfulness. 

With  a  really  genuine  interest  in  the  records  before 
him,  Mr.  Smith  fell  to  work  then.  The  Bible  had  been 
in  the  Blaisdell  family  for  generations,  and  it  was  full 
of  valuable  names  and  dates.  He  began  at  once  to 
copy  them. 

Mr.  Duff,  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  was  arrang- 

72 


POOR  MAGGIE 

ing  into  piles  the  papers  before  him.  He  complained 
of  the  draft,  and  Miss  Maggie  shut  the  window.  He 
said  then  that  he  did  n't  mean  he  wanted  to  suffocate, 
and  she  opened  the  one  on  the  other  side.  The  clock 
had  hardly  struck  three  when  he  accused  her  of  hav 
ing  forgotten  his  medicine.  Yet  when  she  brought  it 
he  refused  to  take  it.  She  had  not  brought  the  right 
kind  of  spoon,  he  said,  and  she  knew  perfectly  well  he 
never  took  it  out  of  that  narrow-bowl  kind.  He  com 
plained  of  the  light,  and  she  lowered  the  curtain;  but 
he  told  her  that  he  did  n't  mean  he  did  n't  want  to 
see  at  all,  so  she  put  it  up  halfway.  He  said  his  coat 
was  too  warm,  and  she  brought  another  one.  He  put 
it  on  grudgingly,  but  he  declared  that  it  was  as  much 
too  thin  as  the  other  was  too  thick. 

Mr.  Smith,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  be  politely  deaf 
and  blind,  found  himself  unable  to  confine  his  atten 
tion  to  birth,  death,  and  marriage  notices.  Once  he 
almost  uttered  an  explosive  "Good  Heavens,  how  do 
you  stand  it?"  to  his  hostess.  But  he  stopped  himself 
just  in  time,  and  fiercely  wrote  with  a  very  black 
mark  that  Submit  Blaisdell  was  born  in  eighteen  hun 
dred  and  one.  A  little  later  he  became  aware  that 
Mr.  Duff's  attention  was  frowningly  turned  across  the 
table  toward  himself. 

"If  you  will  spend  your  time  over  such  silly  stuff, 
why  don't  you  use  a  bigger  book?"  demanded  the  old 
man  at  last. 

"Because  it  would  n't  fit  my  pocket,"  smiled  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Just  what  business  of  yours  [is  it,  anyhow,  when 
these  people  lived  and  died?" 

73 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"None,  perhaps,"  still  smiled  Mr.  Smith  good- 
humoredly. 

"Why  don't  you  let  them  alone,  then?  What  do 
you  expect  to  find?" 

"Why,  I  —  I — "  Mr.  Smith  was  plainly  non 
plused. 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you  it's  a  silly  business,  whatever 
you  find.  If  you  find  your  grandfather's  a  bigger  man 
than  you  are,  you'll  be  proud  of  it,  but  you  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  it  --  'cause  you  are  n't  bigger  yourself! 
On  the  other  hand,  if  you  find  he  is  n't  as  big  as  you 
are,  you'll  be  ashamed  of  that,  when  you  ought  to 
be  proud  of  it  —  -  'cause  you  've  gone  him  one  better. 
But  you  won't.  I  know  your  kind.  I  've  seen  you  be 
fore.  But  can't  you  do  any  work,  real  work?" 

"He  is  doing  work,  real  work,  now,  father,"  inter 
posed  Miss  Maggie  quickly.  "He's  having  a  woeful 
time,  too.  If  you  'd  only  help  him,  now,  and  show  him 
those  papers." 

A  real  terror  came  into  Mr.  Smith's  eyes,  but  Mr. 
Duff  was  already  on  his  feet. 

"Well,  I  shan't,"  he  observed  tartly,  "/'m  not  a 
fool,  if  he  is.  I  'm  going  out  to  the  porch  where  I  can 
get  some  air." 

"There,  work  as  long  as  you  like,  Mr.  Smith.  I 
knew  you'd  rather  work  by  yourself,"  nodded  Miss 
Maggie,  moving  the  piles  of  papers  nearer  him. 

"  But,  good  Heavens,  how  do  you  stand  —  "  exploded 
Mr.  Smith  before  he  realized  that  this  time  he  had 
really  said  the  words  aloud.  He  blushed  a  painful  red. 

Miss  Maggie,  too,  colored.  Then,  abruptly,  she 
laughed. 

74 


'  POOR  MAGGIE 

"After  all,  it  does  n't  matter.  Why  should  n't  I 
be  frank  with  you?  You  could  n't  help  seeing  —  how 
things  were,  of  course,  and  I  forgot,  for  a  moment, 
that  you  were  a  stranger.  Everybody  in  Hillerton 
understands.  You  see,  father  is  nervous,  and  not  at 
all  well.  We  have  to  humor  him." 

"But  do  you  mean  that  you  always  have  to  tell 
him  to  do  what  you  don't  want,  in  order  to  —  well  - 
that  is  -    '   Mr.  Smith,  finding  himself  in  very  deep 
water,  blushed  again  painfully. 

Miss  Maggie  met  his  dismayed  gaze  with  cheerful 
candor. 

"Tell  him  to  do  what  I  don't  want  in  order  to  get 
him  to  do  what  I  do  want  him  to?  Yes,  oh,  yes.  But 
I  don't  mind;  really  I  don't.  I 'm  used  to  it  now.  And 
when  you  know  how,  what  does  it  matter?  After  all, 
where  is  the  difference?  To  most  of  the  world  we  say, 
'Please  do,'  when  we  want  a  thing,  while  to  him  we 
have  to  say,  *  Please  don't.'  That's  all.  You  see,  it's 
really  very  simple  —  when  you  know  how." 

"Simple!  Great  Scott!"  muttered  Mr.  Smith.  He 
wanted  to  say  more;  but  Miss  Maggie,  with  a  smiling 
nod,  turned  away,  so  he  went  back  to  his  work. 

Benny,  wandering  in  from  the  kitchen,  with  both 
hands  full  of  cookies,  plumped  himself  down  on  the 
cushioned  window-seat,  and  drew  a  sigh  of  content. 

"Say,  Aunt  Maggie." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Can  I  come  ter  live  with  you?" 

"Certainly  not!"  The  blithe  voice  and  pleasant 
smile  took  all  the  sting  from  the  prompt  refusal. 
"WThat  would  father  and  mother  do?" 

75 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Oh,  they  would  n't  mind." 

"Benny!" 

"They  would  n't.  Maybe  pa  would  —  a  little;  but 
Bess  and  ma  would  n't.  And  I'd  like  it." 

"Nonsense,  Benny ! "  Miss  Maggie  crossed  to  a  little 
stand  and  picked  up  a  small  box.  "Here's  a  new  pic 
ture  puzzle.  See  if  you  can  do  it." 

Benny  shifted  his  now  depleted  stock  of  cookies  to 
one  hand,  dropped  to  his  knees  on  the  floor,  and 
dumped  the  contents  of  the  box  upon  the  seat  before 
him. 

"They  won't  let  me  eat  cookies  any  more  at  home 
—  in  the  house,  I  mean.  Too  many  crumbs." 

"But  you  know  you  have  to  pick  up  your  crumbs 
here,  dear." 

"Yep.  But  I  don't  mind  —  after  I've  had  the  fun 
of  eatin'  first.  But  they  won't  let  me  drop  'em  ter 
begin  with,  there,  nor  take  any  of  the  boys  inter  the 
house.  Honest,  Aunt  Maggie,  there  ain't  anything  a 
feller  can  do,  'seems  so,  if  ye  live  on  the  West  Side," 
he  persisted  soberly. 

Mr.  Smith,  copying  dates  at  the  table,  was  conscious 
of  a  slightly  apprehensive  glance  in  his  direction  from 
Miss  Maggie's  eyes,  as  she  murmured :  — 

"But  you  're  forgetting  your  puzzle,  Benny.  You  've 
put  only  five  pieces  together." 

"I  can't  do  puzzles  there,  either."  Benny's  voice 
was  still  mournful. 

"All  the  more  reason,  then,  why  you  should  like  to 
do  them  here.  See,  where  does  this  dog's  head  go?" 

Listlessly  Benny  took  the  bit  of  pictured  wood  in  his 
fingers  and  began  to  fit  it  into  the  pattern  before  him. 

76 


POOR  MAGGIE 

"I  used  ter  do  'em  an'  leave  'em  'round,  but  ma 
says  I  can't  now.  Callers  might  come  and  find  'em, 
an'  what  would  they  say  —  on  the  West  Side !  An' 
that 's  the  way  't  is  with  everything.  Ma  an'  Bess  are 
always  doin'  things,  or  not  doin'  'em,  for  those  callers. 
An'  I  don't  see  why.  They  never  come  —  not  new 
ones." 

''Yes,  yes,  dear,  but  they  will,  when  they  get  ac 
quainted.  You  have  n't  found  where  the  dog's  head 
goes  yet." 

"Pa  says  he  don't  want  ter  get  acquainted.  He'd 
rather  have  the  old  friends,  what  don't  mind  baked 
beans,  an'  shirt-sleeves,  an'  doin'  yer  own  work,  an* 
what  thinks  more  of  yer  heart  than  they  do  of  yer 
pocketbook.  But  ma  wants  a  hired  girl.  An'  say, 
we  have  ter  wash  our  hands  every  meal  now  —  on 
the  table,  I  mean  —  in  those  little  glass  wash-dishes. 
Ma  went  down  an'  bought  some,  an'  she's  usin* 
'em  every  day,  so's  ter  get  used  to  'em.  She  says 
everybody  that  is  anybody  has  'em  nowadays.  Bess 
thinks  they're  great,  but  I  don't.  I  don't  like  'em  a 
mite." 

"Oh,  come,  come,  Benny!  It  doesn't  matter  —  it 
does  n't  really  matter,  does  it,  if  you  do  have  to  use 
the  little  dishes?  Come,  you're  not  half  doing  the 
puzzle." 

"I  know  it."  Benny  shifted  his  position,  and  picked 
up  a  three-cornered  bit  of  wood  carrying  the  picture 
of  a  dog's  paw.  "But  I  was  just  thinkin'.  You  see, 
things  are  so  different  —  on  the  West  Side.  W7hy  even 
pa  —  he 's  different.  He  is  n't  there  hardly  any  now. 
He's  got^a  new  job." 

77 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"What?"  Miss  Maggie  turned  from  the  puzzle  with 
a  start. 

"Oh,  just  for  evenin's.  It's  keepin*  books  for  a  man. 
It  brings  in  quite  a  lot  extry,  ma  says;  but  she  would 
n't  let  me  have  some  new  roller  skates  when  mine 
broke.  She's  savin'  up  for  a  chafin'  dish.  What's  a 
chafin'  dish?  Do  you  know?  You  eat  out  of  it,  some 
way  —  I  mean,  it  cooks  things  ter  eat;  an'  Bess  wants 
one.  Gussie  Pennock  's  got  one.  All  our  eatin'  's  dif 
ferent,  'seems  so,  on  the  West  Side.  Ma  has  dinners 
nights  now,  instead  of  noons.  She  says  the  Pennocks 
do,  an'  everybody  does  who  is  anybody.  But  I  don't 
like  it.  Pa  don't,  either,  an'  half  the  time  he  can't  get 
home  in  time  for  it,  anyhow,  on  account  of  gettin' 
back  to  his  new  job,  ye  know,  an'  - 

"Oh,  I've  found  where  the  dog's  head  goes,"  cried 
Miss  Maggie.  There  was  a  hint  of  desperation  in  her 
voice.  "I  shall  have  your  puzzle  all  done  for  you 
myself,  if  you  don't  look  out,  Benny.  I  don't  believe 
you  can  do  it,  anyhow." 

"  I  can,  too.  You  just  see  if  I  can't ! "  retorted  Benny, 
with  sudden  spirit,  falling  to  work  in  earnest.  "I 
never  saw  a  puzzle  yet  I  could  n't  do!" 

Mr.  Smith,  bending  assiduously  over  his  work  at 
the  table,  heard  Miss  Maggie's  sigh  of  relief  —  and 
echoed  it,  from  sympathy. 


CHAPTER  VII 

POOR   MAGGIE  AND   SOME   OTHERS 

IT  was  half  an  hour  later,  when  Mr.  Smith  and  Benny 
were  walking  across  the  common  together,  that 
Benny  asked  an  abrupt  question. 

"Is  Aunt  Maggie  goin5  ter  be  put  in  your  book, 
Mr.  Smith?" 

"Why  —  er  —  yes;  her  name  will  be  entered  as 
the  daughter  of  the  man  who  married  the  Widow 
Blaisdell,  probably.  Why?" 

"Nothin'.  I  was  only  thinkin'.  I  hoped  she  was. 
Aunt  Maggie  don't  have  nothin'  much,  yer  know,  ex 
cept  her  father  an'  housework  —  housework  either  for 
him  or  some  of  us.  An*  I  guess  she's  had  quite  a  lot 
of  things  ter  bother  her,  an'  make  her  feel  bad,  so  I 
hoped  she'd  be  in  the  book.  Though  if  she  wasn't, 
she'd  just  laugh  an'  say  it  does  n't  matter,  of  course. 
That's  what  she  always  says." 

"Always  says?"  Mr.  Smith's  voice  was  mildly  puz 
zled. 

"Yes,  when  things  plague,  an'  somethin*  don't  go 
right.  She  says  it  helps  a  lot  ter  just  remember  that 
it  does  n't  matter.  See?" 

"Well,  no,  —  I  don't  think  I  do  see,"  frowned  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Oh,  yes,"  plunged  in  Benny;  "  'cause,  you  see,  if 
yer  stop  ter  think  about  it  —  this  thing  that's  pla- 
guin'  ye  —  you  '11  see  how  really  small  an'  no-account 

79 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

it  is,  an'  how,  when  you  put  it  beside  really  big  things, 
it  does  n't  matter  at  all  —  it  does  n't  really  matter, 
ye  know.  Aunt  Maggie  says  she's  done  it  years  an' 
years,  ever  since  she  was  just  a  girl,  an'  somethin' 
bothered  her;  an'  it's  helped  a  lot." 

"But  there  are  lots  of  things  that  do  matter,"  per 
sisted  Mr.  Smith,  still  frowning. 

"Oh,  yes!"  Benny  swelled  a  bit  importantly.  "I 
know  what  you  mean.  Aunt  Maggie  says  that,  too; 
an'  she  says  we  must  be  very  careful  an'  not  get  it 
wrong.  It 's  only  the  little  things  that  bother  us,  an' 
that  we  wish  were  different,  that  we  must  say  'It  does 
n't  matter'  about.  It  does  matter  whether  we're  good 
an'  kind  an'  tell  the  truth  an'  shame  the  devil;  but 
it  does  n't  matter  whether  we  have  ter  live  on  the  West 
Side  an'  eat  dinner  nights  instead  of  noons,  an'  not 
eat  cookies  any  of  the  time  in  the  house,  —  see?" 

"  Good  for  you,  Benny,  —  and  good  for  Aunt  Mag 
gie!"  laughed  Mr.  Smith  suddenly. 

"Aunt  Maggie?  Oh,  you  don't  know  Aunt  Maggie, 
yet.  She 's  always  tryin'  ter  make  people  think  things 
don't  matter.  You'll  see!"  crowed  Benny. 

A  moment  later  he  had  turned  down  his  own  street, 
and  Mr.  Smith  was  left  to  go  on  alone. 

Very  often,  in  the  days  that  followed,  Mr.  Smith 
thought  of  this  speech  of  Benny's.  He  had  oppor 
tunity  to  verify  it,  for  he  was  seeing  a  good  deal  of 
Miss  Maggie,  and  it  seemed,  indeed,  to  him  that  half 
the  town  was  coming  to  her  to  learn  that  something 
"didn't  matter"  -though  very  seldom,  except  to 
Benny,  did  he  hear  her  say  the  words  themselves.  It 
was  merely  that  to  her  would  come  men,  women,  and 

80 


POOR  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

children,  each  with  a  sorry  tale  of  discontent  or  dis 
appointment.  And  it  was  always  as  if  they  left  with 
her  their  burden,  for  when  they  turned  away,  head 
and  shoulders  were  erect  once  more,  eyes  were  bright, 
and  the  step  was  alert  and  eager. 

He  used  to  wonder  how  she  did  it.  For  that  matter, 
he  wondered  how  she  did  —  a  great  many  things. 

Mr.  Smith  was,  indeed,  seeing  a  good  deal  of  Miss 
Maggie  these  days.  He  told  himself  that  it  was  the 
records  that  attracted  him.  But  he  did  not  always 
copy  records.  Sometimes  he  just  sat  in  one  of  the 
comfortable  chairs  and  watched  Miss  Maggie,  con 
tent  if  she  gave  him  a  word  now  and  then. 

He  liked  the  way  she  carried  her  head,  and  the  way 
her  hair  waved  away  from  her  shapely  forehead.  He 
liked  the  quiet  strength  of  the  way  her  capable  hands 
lay  motionless  in  her  lap  when  their  services  were  not 
required.  He  liked  to  watch  for  the  twinkle  in  her  eye, 
and  for  the  dimple  in  her  cheek  that  told  a  smile  was 
coming.  He  liked  to  hear  her  talk  to  Benny.  He  even 
liked  to  hear  her  talk  to  her  father  —  when  he  could 
control  his  temper  sufficiently.  Best  of  all  he  liked  his 
own  comfortable  feeling  of  being  quite  at  home,  and 
at  peace  with  all  the  world  —  the  feeling  that  always 
came  to  him  now  whenever  he  entered  the  house, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  welcome  accorded  him 
by  Mr.  Duff  was  hardly  more  friendly  than  at  the 
first. 

To  Mr.  Smith  it  was  a  matter  of  small  moment 
whether  Mr.  Duff  welcomed  him  cordially  or  not.  He 
even  indulged  now  and  then  in  a  bout  of  his  own  with 
the  gentleman,  chuckling  inordinately  when  results 

81 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

showed  that  he  had  pitched  his  remark  at  just  the 
right  note  of  contrariety  to  get  what  he  wanted. 

For  the  most  part,  however,  Mr.  Smith,  at  least 
nominally,  spent  his  time  at  his  legitimate  task  of 
studying  and  copying  the  Blaisdell  family  records,  of 
which  he  was  finding  a  great  number.  Rufus  Blais 
dell  apparently  had  done  no  little  "digging"  himself  in 
his  own  day,  and  Mr.  Smith  told  Miss  Maggie  that  it 
was  all  a  great  "find"  for  him. 

Miss  Maggie  seemed  pleased.  She  said  that  she  was 
glad  if  she  could  be  of  any  help  to  him,  and  she  told 
him  to  come  whenever  he  liked.  She  arranged  the 
Bible  and  the  big  box  of  papers  on  a  little  table  in 
the  corner,  and  told  him  to  make  himself  quite  at 
home;  and  she  showed  so  plainly  that  she  regarded 
him  as  quite  one  of  the  family,  that  Mr.  Smith  might 
be  pardoned  for  soon  considering  himself  so. 

It  was  while  at  work  in  this  corner  that  he  came  to 
learn  so  much  of  Miss  Maggie's  daily  life,  and  of  her 
visitors. 

Although  many  of  these  visitors  were  strangers  to 
him,  some  of  them  he  knew. 

One  day  it  was  Mrs.  Hattie  Blaisdell,  with  a  coun 
tenance  even  more  florid  than  usual.  She  was  breath 
less  and  excited,  and  her  eyes  were  worried.  She  was 
going  to  give  a  luncheon,  she  said.  She  wanted  Miss 
Maggie's  silver  spoons,  and  her  forks,  and  her  hand- 
painted  sugar-and-creamer,  and  Mother  Blaisdell's 
cut-glass  dish. 

Mr.  Smith,  supposing  that  Miss  Maggie  herself 
was  to  be  at  the  luncheon,  was  just  rejoicing  within 
him  that  she  was  to  have  this  pleasant  little  outing, 

82 


POOR  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

when  he  heard  Mrs.  Blaisdell  telling  her  to  be  sure  to 
come  at  eleven  to  be  in  the  kitchen,  and  asking  where 
could  she  get  a  maid  to  serve  in  the  dining-room,  and 
what  should  she  do  with  Benny.  He'd  have  to  be  put 
somewhere,  or  else  he'd  be  sure  to  upset  everything. 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  hear  Miss  Maggie's  answer  to 
all  this,  for  she  hurried  her.  visitor  to  the  kitchen  at 
once  —  to  look  up  the  spoons,  she  said.  But  indirectly 
he  obtained  a  very  conclusive  reply;  for  he  found  Miss 
Maggie  gone  one  day  when  he  came;  and  Benny,  who 
was  in  her  place,  told  him  all  about  it,  even  to  the 
dandy  frosted  cake  Aunt  Maggie  had  made  for  the 
company  to  eat. 

Another  day  it  was  Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell  who  came. 
Mrs.  Jane  had  a  tired  frown  between  her  brows  and 
a  despairing  droop  to  her  lips.  She  carried  a  large 
bundle  which  she  dropped  unceremoniously  into  Miss 
Maggie's  lap. 

"There,  I'm  dead  beat  out,  and  I've  brought  it  to 
you.  You  Ve  just  got  to  help  me,"  she  finished,  sink 
ing  into  a  chair. 

"Why,  of  course,  if  I  can.  But  what  is  it?"  Miss 
Maggie's  deft  fingers  were  already  untying  the  knot. 

"It's  my  old  black  silk.  I'm  making  it  over." 

"Again  ?  But  I  thought  the  last  time  it  could  n't 
ever  be  done  again." 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  there's  lots  of  good  in  it  yet," 
interposed  Mrs.  Jane  decidedly;  "and  I've  bought 
new  velvet  and  new  lace,  and  some  buttons  and  a  new 
lining.  I  thought  I  could  do  it  alone,  but  I  've  reached 
a  point  where  I  just  have  got  to  have  help.  So  I  came 
right  over." 

83 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Yes,  of  course,  but" —  Miss  Maggie  was  lifting 
a  half-finished  sleeve  doubtfully  —  "  why  did  n't  you 
go  to  Flora?  She'd  know  exactly  — " 

Mrs.  Jane  stiffened. 

"Because  I  can't  afford  to  go  to  Flora,"  she  inter 
rupted  coldly.  "I  have  to  pay  Flora,  and  you  know 
it.  If  I  had  the  money  I  should  be  glad  to  do  it,  of 
course.  But  I  have  n't,  and  charity  begins  at  home,  I 
think.  Besides,  I  do  go  to  her  for  new  dresses.  But 
this  old  thing  — !  Of  course,  if  you  don't  want  to  help 
me—" 

"Oh,  but  I  do,"  plunged  in  Miss  Maggie  hurriedly. 
"Come  out  into  the  kitchen  where  we'll  have  more 
room,"  she  exclaimed,  gathering  the  bundle  into  her 
arms  and  springing  to  her  feet. 

"I've  got  some  other  lace  at  home  —  yards  and 
yards.  I  got  a  lot,  it  was  so  cheap,"  recounted  Mrs. 
Jane,  rising  with  alacrity.  "But  I'm  afraid  it  won't 
do  for  this,  and  I  don't  know  as  it  will  do  for  anything, 
it's  so—  " 

The  kitchen  door  slammed  sharply,  and  Mr.  Smith 
heard  no  more.  Half  an  hour  later,  however,  he  saw 
Mrs.  Jane  go  down  the  walk.  The  frown  was  gone 
from  her  face  and  the  droop  from  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  Her  step  was  alert  and  confident.  She  carried 
no  bundle.  % 

The  next  day  it  was  Miss  Flora."  Miss  Flora's  thin 
little  face  looked  more  pinched  than  ever,  and  her 
eyes  more  anxious,  Mr.  Smith  thought^  Even  her 
smile,  as  she  acknowledged  Mr.  Smith's  greeting,  was 
so  wan  he  wished  she  had  not  tried  to  give  it. 

She  sat  down  then,  by  the  window,  and  began  to 

84 


POOR  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

chat  with  Miss  Maggie;  and  very  soon  Mr.  Smith 
heard  her  say  this :  — 

"No,  Maggie,  I  don't  know,  really,  what  I  am  going 
to  do  — •  truly  I  don't.  Business  is  so  tumble  dull ! 
Why,  I  don't  earn  enough  to  pay  my  rent,  hardly,  now, 
ter  say  nothin'  of  my  feed." 

Miss  Maggie  frowned. 

"But  I  thought  that  Hattie  —  is  rCt  Hattie  having 
some  new  dresses  —  and  Bessie,  too?" 

A  sigh  passed  Miss  Flora's  lips. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes;  they  are  having  three  or  four.  But 
they  don't  come  to  me  any  more.  They've  gone  to 
that  French  woman  that  makes  the  Pennocks'  things, 
you  know,  with  the  queer  name.  And  of  course  it's 
all  right,  and  you  can't  blame  'em,  livin'  on  the  West 
Side,  as  they  do  now.  And,  of  course,  I  ain't  so  up  ter 
date  as  she  is,  And  just  her  name  counts." 

"Nonsense!  Up  to  date,  indeed!"  (Miss  Maggie 
laughed  merrily,  but  Mr.  Smith,  copying  dates  at  the 
table,  detected  a  note  in  the  laugh  that  was  not  merri 
ment.)  "You're  up  to  date  enough  for  me.  I've  got 
just  the  job  for  you,  too.  Come  out  into  the  kitchen." 
She  was  already  almost  at  the  door. 

"Why,  Maggie,  you  have  n't,  either!"  (In  spite  of 
the  incredulity  of  voice  and  manner,  Miss  Flora  sprang 
joyfully  to  her  feet.)  "You  never  had  me  make  you 
a  — "  Again  the  kitchen  door  slammed  shut,  and  Mr. 
Smith  was  left  to  finish  the  sentence  for  himself. 

But  Mr.  Smith  was  not  finishing  sentences.  Neither 
was  his  face  expressing  just  then  the  sympathy  which 
it  might  be  supposed  to  be  showing,  after  so  sorry  a 
tale  as  Miss  Flora  had  been  telling.  On  the  contrary, 

85 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Mr.  Smith,  with  an  actual  elation  of  countenance, 
was  scribbling  on  the  edge  of  his  notebook  words 
that  certainly  he  had  never  found  in  the  Blaisdell 
records  before  him:  "Two  months  more,  then  —  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  And  may  I  be  there  to 
see  it!" 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  on  the  previous  day,  Mr. 
Smith  saw  a  metamorphosed  woman  hurrying  down 
the  little  path  to  the  street.  But  the  woman  to-day 
was  carrying  a  bundle  —  and  it  was  the  same  bundle 
that  the  woman  the  day  before  had  brought. 

But  not  always,  as  Mr.  Smith  soon  learned,  were 
Miss  Maggie's  visitors  women.  Besides  Benny,  with 
his  grievances,  young  Fred  Blaisdell  came  sometimes, 
and  poured  into  Miss  Maggie's  sympathetic  ears  the 
story  of  Gussie  Pennock's  really  remarkable  person 
ality,  or  of  what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he  went  to 
college  —  and  afterwards. 

Mr.  Jim  Blaisdell  drifted  in  quite  frequently  Sun 
day  afternoons,  though  apparently  all  he  came  for  was 
to  smoke  and  read  in  one  of  the  big  comfortable  chairs. 
Mr.  Smith  himself  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  stroll 
ing  down  to  Miss  Maggie's  almost  every  Sunday  after 
dinner. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  rattled 
up  to  the  door  in  his  grocery  wagon.  His  face  was 
very  red,  and  his  mutton-chop  whiskers  were  stand 
ing  straight  out  at  each  side. 

Jane  had  collapsed,  he  said,  utterly  collapsed.  All 
the  week  she  had  been  house-cleaning  and  doing  up 
curtains;  and  now  this  morning,  expressly  against  his 
wishes,  to  save  hiring  a  man,  she  had  put  down  the 

86 


POOR  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

parlor  carpet  herself.  Now  she  was  flat  on  her  back, 
and  supper  to  be  got  for  the  boarder,  and  the  Satur 
day  baking  yet,  to  be  done.  And  could  Maggie  come 
and  help  them  out? 

Before  Miss  Maggie  could  answer,  Mr.  Smith  hur 
ried  out  from  his  corner  and  insisted  that  "the  boarder ' ' 
did  not  want  any  supper  anyway  —  and  could  they 
not  live  on  crackers  and  milk  for  the  coming  few  days? 

But  Miss  Maggie  laughed  and  said,  "Nonsense!" 
And  in  an  incredibly  short  time  she  was  ready  to 
drive  back  in  the  grocery  wagon.  Later,  when  he 
went  home,  Mr.  Smith  found  her  there,  presiding 
over  one  of  the  best  suppers  he  had  eaten  since  his 
arrival  in  Hillerton.  She  came  every  day  after  that, 
for  a  week,  for  Mrs.  Jane  remained  "flat  on  her  back" 
seven  days,  with  a  doctor  in  daily  attendance,  supple 
mented  by  a  trained  nurse  peremptorily  ordered  by 
that  same  doctor  from  the  nearest  city. 

Miss  Maggie,  with  the  assistance  of  Mellicent,  at 
tended  to  the  housework.  But  in  spite  of  the  excel 
lence  of  the  cuisine,  meal  time  was  a  most  unhappy 
period  to  everybody  concerned,  owing  to  the  sarcas 
tic  comments  of  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  as  to  how  much 
his  wife  had  "saved"  by  not  having  a  man  to  put 
down  that  carpet. 

Mellicent  had  little  time  now  to  go  walking  or  auto- 
riding  with  Carl  Pennock.  Her  daily  life  was,  indeed, 
more  pleasure-starved  than  ever  —  all  of  which  was 
not  lost  on  Mr.  Smith.  Mr.  Smith  and  Mellicent  were 
fast  friends  now.  Given  a  man  with  a  sympathetic 
understanding  on  one  side,  and  a  girl  hungry  for  that 
same  sympathy  and  understanding,  and  it  could  hardly 

87 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

be  otherwise.  From  Mellicent's  own  lips  Mr.  Smith 
knew  now  just  how  hungry  a  young  girl  can  be  for 
fun  and  furbelows. 

"Of  course  I've  got  my  board  and  clothes,  and  I 
ought  to  be  thankful  for  them,"  she  stormed  hotly 
to  him  one  day.  "And  I  am  thankful  for  them.  But 
sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I'd  actually  be  willing  to  go 
hungry  for  meat  and  potato,  if  for  once  —  just  once 
—  I  could  buy  a  five-pound  box  of  candy,  and  eat  it 
up  all  at  once,  if  I  wanted  to!  But  now,  why  now  I 
can't  even  treat  a  friend  to  an  ice-cream  soda  with 
out  seeing  mother's  shocked,  reproachful  eyes  over 
the  rim  of  the  glass!" 

It  was  not  easy  then  (nor  many  times  subsequently) 
for  Mr.  Smith  to  keep  from  asking  Mellicent  the  utterly 
absurd  question  of  how  many  five-pound  boxes  of 
candy  she  supposed  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
would  buy.  But  he  did  keep  from  it  —  by  heroic  self- 
sacrifice  and  the  comforting  recollection  that  she 
would  know  some  day,  if  she  cared  to  take  the  trouble 
to  reckon  it  up. 

In  Mellicent's  love  affair  with  young  Pennock  Mr. 
Smith  was  enormously  interested.  Not  that  he  re 
garded  it  as  really  serious,  but  because  it  appeared 
to  bring  into  Mellicent's  life  something  of  the  youth 
and  gayety  to  which  he  thought  she  was  entitled.  He 
was  almost  as  concerned  as  was  Miss  Maggie,  there 
fore,  when  one  afternoon,  soon  after  Mrs.  Jane  Blais- 
dell's  complete  recovery  from  her  "carpet  tax"  (as 
Frank  Blaisdell  termed  his  wife's  recent  illness),  Melli 
cent  rushed  into  the  Duff  living-room  with  rose-red 
cheeks  and  blazing  eyes,  and  an  explosive:  - 

88 


POOR  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

"Aunt  Maggie,  Aunt  Maggie,  can't  you  get  mother 
to  let  me  go  away  somewhere  —  anywhere,  right  off?  " 

"Why,  Mellicent!  Away?  And  just  to-morrow  the 
Pennocks'  dance?" 

"But  that's  it  —  that's  why  I  want  to  go,"  flashed 
Mellicent.  "I  don't  want  to  be  at  the  dance  —  and  I 
don't  want  to  be  in  town,  and  not  at  the  dance." 

Mr.  Smith,  at  his  table  in  the  corner,  glanced  nerv 
ously  toward  the  door,  then  bent  assiduously  over 
his  work,  as  being  less  conspicuous  than  the  flight  he 
had  been  tempted  for  a  moment  to  essay.  But  even 
this  was  not  to  be,  for  the  next  moment,  to  his  surprise, 
the  girl  appealed  directly  to  him. 

"Mr.  Smith,  please,  won't  you  take  me  somewhere 
to-morrow?  " 

"  Mellicent ! "  Even  Miss  Maggie  was  shocked  now, 
and  showed  it. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Aunt  Maggie.  I've  just  got  to  be 
away!"  Mellicent 's  voice  was  tragic. 

"But,  my  dear,  to  ask  a  gentleman — "  reproved 
Miss  Maggie.  She  came  to  an  indeterminate  pause. 
Mr.  Smith  had  crossed  the  room  and  dropped  into  a 
chair  near  them. 

"See  here,  little  girl,  suppose  you  tell  us  just  what 
is  behind  —  all  this,"  he  began  gently. 

Mellicent  shook  her  head  stubbornly. 

"I  can't.  It's  too  —  silly.  Please  let  it  go  that  I 
want  to  be  away..  That's  all." 

"Mellicent,  we  can't  do  that."  Miss  Maggie's  voice 
was  quietly  firm.  "We  can't  do — anything,  until 
you  tell  us  what  it  is." 

There  was  a  brief  pause.  Mellicent 's  eyes,  still 

89 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

mutinous,  sought  first  the  kindly  questioning  face  of 
the  man,  then  the  no  less  kindly  but  rather  grave  face 
of  the  woman.  Then  in  a  little  breathless  burst  it 
came. 

"It's  just  something  they're  all  saying  Mrs.  Pen- 
nock  said  —  about  me." 

"What  was  it?"  Two  little  red  spots  had  come 
into  Miss  Maggie's  cheeks. 

"Yes,  what  was  it?"  Mr.  Smith  was  looking  actu 
ally  belligerent. 

"It  was  just  that  —  that  they  weren't  going  to  let 
Carl  Pennock  go  with  me  any  more  —  anywhere,  or 
come  to  see  me,  because  I  —  I  did  n't  belong  to  their 
set." 

"Their  set!"  exploded  Mr.  Smith. 

Miss  Maggie  said  nothing,  but  the  red  spots  deep 
ened. 

"Yes.  It's  just  —  that  we  are  n't  rich  like  them.  I 
have  n't  got  —  money  enough." 

"That  you  haven't  got  —  got —  Oh,  ye  godsP* 
For  no  apparent  reason  whatever  Mr.  Smith  threw 
back  his  head  suddenly  and  laughed.  Almost  in 
stantly,  however,  he  sobered:  he  had  caught  the  ex 
pression  of  the  two  faces  opposite. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  apologized  promptly.  "It 
was  only  that  to  me  —  there  was  something  very 
funny  about  that." 

"But,  Mellicent,  are  you  sure?  I  don't  believe  she 
ever  said  it,"  doubted  Miss  Maggie. 

"He  has  n't  been  near  me  —  for  a  week.  Not  that 
I  care!"  Mellicent  turned  with  flashing  eyes.  "I  don't 
care  a  bit  —  not  a  bit  —  about  that!" 

90 


'  i  CAN'T  HELP  IT,  AUNT  MAGGIE.   I'VE  JUST 
GOT  TO  BE  AWAY!  " 


POOR  MAGGIE  AND  SOME  OTHERS 

"Of  course  you  don't!  It's  not  worth  even  thinking 
of,  either.  What  does  it  matter  if  she  did  say  it,  dear? 
Forget  it!" 

"But  I  can't  bear  to  have  them  all  talk  —  and  no 
tice,"  choked  Mellicent.  "And  we  were  together  such 
a  lot  before;  and  now  —  I  tell  you  I  can't  go  to  that 
dance  to-morrow  night!" 

"And  you  shan't,  if  you  don't  want  to,"  Mr.  Smith 
assured  her.  "Right  here  and  now  I  invite  you  and 
your  Aunt  Maggie  to  drive  with  me  to-morrow  to 
Hubbardville.  There  are  some  records  there  that  I 
want  to  look  up.  We'll  get  dinner  at  the  hotel.  It 
will  take  all  day,  and  we  shan't  be  home  till  late  in 
the  evening.  You'll  go?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  you  —  you  dear!  Of  course  we'll 
go!  I'll  go  straight  now  and  telephone  to  somebody 
—  everybody  —  that  I  shan't  be  there;  that  I'm  go 
ing  to  be  out  of  town!'"'  She  sprang  joyously  to  her 
feet  —  but  Miss  Maggie  held  out  a  restraining  hand. 

"Just  a  minute,  dear.  You  don't  care  —  you  said 
you  did  n't  care  —  that  Carl  Pennock  does  n't  come 
to  see  you  any  more?" 

"Indeed  I  don't!" 

"Then  you  would  n't  want  others  to  think  you  did, 
would  you?" 

"Of  course  not!"  The  red  dyed  Mellicent 's  fore 
head. 

"You  have  said  that  you'd  go  to  this  party,  have 
n't  you?  That  is,  you  accepted  the  invitation,  did  n't 
you,  and  people  know  that  you  did,  don't  they?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  course!  But  that  was  before  —  Mrs. 
Pennock  said  what  she  did." 

91 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Of  course.  But  —  just  what  do  you  think  these 
people  are  going  to  say  to-morrow  night,  when  you 
are  n't  there?  " 

"Why,  that  I  —  I-  The  color  drained  from  her 
face  and  left  it  white.  "  They  would  n't  expect  me  to 
go  after  that  —  insult." 

"Then  they'll  understand  that  you  —  care,  won't 
they?" 

"Why,  I  —  I-  They-  -  I  can't—"  She  turned 
sharply  and  walked  to  the  window.  For  a  long  minute 
she  stood,  her  back  toward  the  two  watching  her. 
Then,  with  equal  abruptness,  she  turned  and  came 
back.  Her  cheeks  were  very  pink  now,  her  eyes  very 
bright.  She  carried  her  head  with  a  proud  little  lift. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Smith,  that  I  won't  go  with  you  to 
morrow,  after  all,"  she  said  steadily.  "I've  decided 
to  go  —  to  that  dance." 

The  next  moment  the  door  shut  crisply  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A   SANTA   CLAUS   HELD    UP 

IT  was  about  five  months  after  the  multi-millionaire, 
Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  had  started  for  South  America, 
that  Edward  D.  Norton,  Esq.,  received  the  following 
letter: — 

DEAE  NED:  —  I'm  glad  there's  only  one  more  month  to 
wait.  I  feel  like  Santa  Glaus  with  a  box  of  toys,  held  up  by 
a  snowdrift,  and  I  just  can't  wait  to  see  the  children  dance 

—  when  they  get  them. 

And  let  me  say  right  here  and  now  how  glad  I  am  that 
I  did  this  thing.  Oh,  yes,  I  '11  admit  I  still  feel  like  the  small 
boy  at  the  keyhole,  at  times,  perhaps;  but  I'll  forget  that 

—  when  the  children  begin  to  dance. 

And,  really,  never  have  I  seen  a  bunch  of  people  whom 
I  thought  a  little  money  would  do  more  good  to  than  the 
Blaisdells  here  in  Hillerton.  My  only  regret  is  that  I  did  n't 
know  about  Miss  Maggie  Duff,  so  that  she  could  have  had 
some,  too.  (Oh,  yes,  I've  found  out  all  about  "Poor  Mag 
gie  "  now,  and  she 's  a  dear  —  the  typical  self-sacrificing, 
self-effacing  bearer  of  everybody's  burdens,  including  a 
huge  share  of  her  own !)  However,  she  is  n't  a  Blaisdell,  of 
course,  so  I  could  n't  have  worked  her  into  my  scheme  very 
well,  I  suppose,  even  if  I  had  known  about  her.  They  are 
all  fond  of  her  —  though  they  impose  on  her  time  and  her 
sympathies  abominably.  But  I  reckon  she'll  get  some  of 
the  benefits  of  the  others'  thousands.  Mrs.  Jane,  in  partic 
ular,  is  always  wishing  she  could  do  something  for  "Poor 
Maggie,"  so  I  dare  say  she'll  be  looked  out  for  all  right. 

As  to  who  will  prove  to  be  the  wisest  handler  of  the  hun 
dred  thousand,  and  thus  my  eventual  heir,  I  have  n't  the 
least  idea.  As  I  said  before,  they  all  need  money,  and  need 

93 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

it  badly  —  need  it  to  be  comfortable  and  happy,  I  mean. 
They  are  n't  really  poor,  any  of  them,  except,  perhaps,  Miss 
Flora.  She  is  a  little  hard  up,  poor  soul.  Bless  her  heart! 
I  wonder  what  she'll  get  first,  Niagara,  the  phonograph,  or 
something  to  eat  without  looking  at  the  price.  Did  I  ever 
write  you  about  those  "three  wishes"  of  hers? 

I  can't  see  that  any  of  the  family  are  really  extravagant, 
unless,  perhaps,  it's  Mrs.  James  —  "Hattie. "  She  is  ambi 
tious,  and  is  inclined  to  live  on  a  scale  a  little  beyond  her 
means,  I  judge.  But  that  will  be  all  right,  of  course,  when 
she  has  the  money  to  gratify  her  tastes.  Jim  —  poor  fellow, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him  take  it  easy,  for  once.  He  reminds 
me  of  the  old  horse  I  saw  the  other  day  running  one  of 
those  infernal  treadmill  threshing  machines  —  always  go 
ing,  but  never  getting  there.  He  works,  and  works  hard, 
and  then  he  gets  a  job  nights  and  works  harder;  but  he 
never  quite  catches  up  with  his  bills,  I  fancy.  What  a  world 
of  solid  comfort  he'll  take  with  that  hundred  thousand! 
I  can  hear  him  draw  the  long  breath  now  —  for  once  every 
bill  paid! 

Of  course,  the  Frank  Blaisdells  are  the  most  thrifty  of 
the  bunch  —  at  least,  Mrs.  Frank,  "Jane,"  is  —  and  I  dare 
say  they  would  be  the  most  conservative  handlers  of  my 
millions.  But  time  will  tell.  Anyhow,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
them  enjoy  themselves  meanwhile  with  the  hundred  thou 
sand.  Maybe  Mrs.  Jane  will  be  constrained  to  clear  my  room 
of  a  few  of  the  mats  and  covers  and  tidies!  I  have  hopes. 
At  least,  I  shall  surely  have  a  vacation  from  her  everlast 
ing  "We  can't  afford  it,"  and  her  equally  everlasting  "Of 
course,  if  I  had  the  money  I'd  do  it."  Praise  be  for  that!  — 
and  it'll  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  to  me,  believe  me, 
Ned. 

As  for  her  husband  —  I  'm  not  sure  how  he  will  take  it. 
It  is  n't  corn  or  peas  or  flour  or  sugar,  you  see,  and  I  'm 
not  posted  as  to  his  opinion  of  much  of  anything  else.  He'll 
spend  some  of  it,  though,  —  I'm  sure  of  that.  I  don't  think 
he  always  thoroughly  appreciates  his  wife's  thrifty  ideas 

94 


'  A  SANTA  GLAUS  HELD  UP 

of  economy.  I  have  n't  forgotten  the  night  I  came  home 
once,  to  find  Mrs.  Jane  out  calling,  and  Mr.  Frank  ram 
paging  around  the  house  with  every  gas  jet  at  full  blast. 
It  seems  he  was  packing  Jiis  bag  to  go  on  a  hurried  busi 
ness  trip.  He  laughed  a  little  sheepishly  —  I  suppose  he 
saw  my  blinking  amazement  at  the  illumination  —  and 
said  something  about  being  tired  of  always  feeling  his  way 
through  pitch-dark  rooms.  So,  as  I  say,  I'm  not  quite 
sure  of  Mr.  Frank  when  he  comes  into  possession  of  the 
hundred  thousand.  He's  been  cooped  up  in  the  dark  so 
long  he  may  want  to  blow  in  the  whole  hundred  thousand 
in  one  grand  blare  of  light.  However,  I  reckon  I  need  n't 
worry  —  he'll  still  have  Mrs.  Jane  —  to  turn  some  of  the 
gas  jets  down! 

As  for  the  younger  generation  —  they  're  fine,  every  one 
of  them;  and  just  think  what  this  money  will  mean  to  them 
in  education  and  advantages!  Jim's  son,  Fred,  eighteen, 
is  a  fine,  manly  boy.  He's  got  his  mother's  ambitions,  and 
he 's  keen  for  college  —  even  talks  of  working  his  way 
(much  to  his  mother's  horror)  if  his  father  can't  find  the 
money  to  send  him.  Of  course,  that  part  will  be  all  right 
now  —  in  a  month. 

The  daughter,  Bessie  (almost  seventeen),  is  an  exceed 
ingly  pretty  girl.  She,  too,  is  ambitious  —  almost  too  much 
so,  perhaps,  for  her  happiness,  in  the  present  state  of  their 
pocketbook.  But  of  course  that,  too,  will  be  all  right,  after 
next  month.  Benny,  the  nine-year-old,  will  be  concerned 
as  little  as  any  one  over  that  hundred  thousand  dollars,  I 
imagine.  The  real  value  of  the  gift  he  will  not  appreciate,  of 
course;  in  fact,  I  doubt  if  he  even  approves  of  it  —  lest  his 
privileges  as  to  meals  and  manners  be  still  further  cur 
tailed.  Poor  Benny !  Now,  Mellicent  — 

Perhaps  in  no  one  do  I  expect  to  so  thoroughly  rejoice 
as  I  do  in  poor  little  pleasure-starved  Mellicent.  I  realize, 
of  course,  that  it  will  mean  to  her  the  solid  advantages  of 
college,  music-culture,  and  travel;  but  I  must  confess  that 
in  my  dearest  vision,  the  child  is  reveling  in  one  grand  whirl 

95 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

of  pink  dresses  and  chocolate  bonbons.  Bless  her  dear 
heart!  I  gave  her  one  five-pound  box  of  candy,  but  I  never 
repeated  the  mistake.  Besides  enduring  the  manifestly  sus 
picious  disapproval  of  her  mother  because  I  had  made  the 
gift,  I  have  had  the  added  torment  of  seeing  that  box  of 
chocolates  doled  out  to  that  poor  child  at  the  rate  of  two 
pieces  a  day.  They  are  n't  gone  yet,  but  I  '11  warrant  they  're 
as  hard  as  bullets  —  those  wretched  bonbons.  I  picked  the 
box  up  yesterday.  You  should  have  heard  it  rattle! 

But  there  is  yet  another  phase  of  the  money  business  in 
connection  with  Mellicent  that  pleases  me  mightily.  A  cer 
tain  youth  by  the  name  of  Carl  Pennock  has  been  beauing 
her  around  a  good  deal,  since  I  came.  The  Pennocks  have 
some  money  —  fifty  thousand,  or  so,  I  believe  —  and  it 
is  reported  that  Mrs.  Pennock  has  put  her  foot  down  on 
the  budding  romance  —  because  the  Blaisdells  have  not 
got  money  enough  I  (Begin  to  see  where  my  chuckles  come 
in?)  However  true  this  report  may  be,  the  fact  remains 
that  the  youth  has  not  been  near  the  house  for  a  month 
past,  nor  taken  Mellicent  anywhere.  Of  course,  it  shows 
him  and  his  family  up  —  for  just  what  they  are;  but  it  has 
been  mortifying  for  poor  Mellicent.  She's  showing  her 
pluck  like  a  little  trump,  however,  and  goes  serenely  on 
her  way  with  her  head  just  enough  in  the  air  —  but  not 
too  much. 

I  don't  think  Mellicent's  real  heart  is  affected  in  the  least 
—  she 's  only  eighteen,  remember  —  but  her  pride  is.  And 
her  mother — !  Mrs.  Jane  is  thoroughly  angry  as  well  as 
mortified.  She  says  Mellicent  is  every  whit  as  good  as  those 
Pennocks,  and  that  the  woman  who  would  let  a  paltry 
thing  like  money  stand  in  the  way  of  her  son's  affections 
is  a  pretty  small  specimen.  For  her  part,  she  never  did 
have  any  use  for  rich  folks,  anyway,  and  she  is  proud  and 
glad  that  she's  poor!  I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Jane  was  very  angry 
when  she  said  that.  However,  so  much  for  her  —  and  she 
may  change  her  opinion  one  of  these  days. 

My  private  suspicion  is  that  young  Pennock  is  already 

96 


A  SANTA  CLAUS  HELD  UP 

repentant,  and  is  pulling  hard  at  his  mother's  leading- 
strings;  for  I  was  with  Mellicent  the  other  day  when  we 
met  the  lad  face  to  face  on  the  street.  Mellicent  smiled  and 
nodded  casually,  but  Pennock  —  he  turned  all  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  with  terror,  pleading,  apology,  and  assumed  in 
difference  all  chasing  each  other  across  his  face.  Dear,  dear, 
but  he  was  a  sight! 

There  is,  too,  another  feature  in  the  case.  It  seems  that 
a  new  family  by  the  name  of  Gaylord  have  come  to  town 
and  opened  up  the  old  Gaylord  mansion.  Gaylord  is  a  son 
of  old  Peter  Gaylord,  and  is  a  millionaire.  They  are  mak 
ing  quite  a  splurge  in  the  way  of  balls  and  liveried  serv 
ants,  and  motor  cars,  and  the  town  is  agog  with  it  all. 
There  are  young  people  in  the  family,  and  especially  there 
is  a  girl,  Miss  Pearl,  whom,  report  says,  the  Pennocks  have 
selected  as  being  a  suitable  mate  for  Carl.  At  all  events 
the  Pennocks  and  the  Gaylords  have  struck  up  a  furious 
friendship,  and  the  young  people  of  both  families  are  in  the 
forefront  of  innumerable  social  affairs  —  in  most  of  which 
Mellicent  is  left  out. 

So  now  you  have  it  —  the  whole  story.  And  next  month 
comes  to  Mellicent 's  father  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
Do  you  wonder  I  say  the  plot  thickens? 

As  for  myself  —  you  should  see  me!  I  eat  whatever  I 
like.  (The  man  who  says  health  biscuit  to  me  now  gets 
knocked  down  —  and  I've  got  the  strength  to  do  it,  too!) 
I  can  walk  miles  and  not  know  it.  I've  gained  twenty 
pounds,  and  I  'm  having  the  time  of  my  life.  I  'm  even  en 
joying  being  a  genealogist  —  a  little.  I  Ve  about  exhausted 
the  resources  of  Hillerton,  and  have  begun  to  make  trips 
to  the  neighboring  towns.  I  can  even  spend  an  afternoon 
in  an  old  cemetery  copying  dates  from  moss-grown  grave 
stones,  and  not  entirely  lose  my  appetite  for  dinner  — 
I  mean,  supper.  I  was  even  congratulating  myself  that  I 
was  really  quite  a  genealogist  when,  the  other  day,  I  met 
the  real  thing.  Heavens,  Ned,  that  man  had  fourteen  thou 
sand  four  hundred  and  seventy-two  dates  at  his  tongue's 

97 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

end,  and  he  said  them  all  over  to  me.  He  knows  the  name 
of  every  Blake  (he  was  a  Blake)  back  to  the  year  one,  how 
many  children  they  had  (and  they  had  some  families  then, 
let  me  tell  you!),  and  when  they  all  died,  and  why.  I  met 
him  one  morning  in  a  cemetery.  I  was  hunting  for  a  cer 
tain  stone  and  I  asked  him  a  question.  Heavens!  It  was 
like  setting  a  match  to  one  of  those  Fourth-of-July  flower 
pot  sky-rocket  affairs.  That  question  was  the  match  that 
set  him  going,  and  thereafter  he  was  a  gushing  geyser  of 
names  and  dates.  I  never  heard  anything  like  it. 

He  began  at  the  Blaisdells,  but  skipped  almost  at  once 
to  the  Blakes  —  there  were  a  lot  of  them  near  us.  In  five 
minutes  he  had  me  dumb  from  sheer  stupefaction.  In  ten 
minutes  he  had  made  a  century  run,  and  by  noon  he  had 
got  to  the  Crusades.  We  went  through  the  Dark  Ages  very 
appropriately,  waiting  in  an  open  tomb  for  a  thunderstorm 
to  pass.  We  had  got  to  the  year  one  when  I  had  to  leave 
to  drive  back  to  Hillerton.  I've  invited  him  to  come  to  see 
Father  Duff.  I  thought  I'd  like  to  have  them  meet.  lie 
knows  a  lot  about  the  Duffs  —  a  Blake  married  one,  'way 
back  somewhere.  I  'd  like  to  hear  him  and  Father  Duff  talk 
—  or,  rather,  I  'd  like  to  hear  him  try  to  talk  to  Father  Duff. 
Did  I  ever  write  you  Father  Duff's  opinion  of  genealogists? 
I  believe  I  did. 

I  'm  not  seeing  so  much  of  Father  Duff  these  days.  Now 
that  it's  grown  a  little  cooler  he  spends  most  of  his  time  in 
his  favorite  chair  before  the  cookstove  in  the  kitchen. 

Jove,  what  a  letter  this  is !  It  should  be  shipped  by  freight 
and  read  in  sections.  But  I  wanted  you  to  know  how  things 
are  here.  You  can  appreciate  it  the  more  —  when  you  come. 

You're  not  forgetting,  of  course,  that  it's  on  the  first  day 
of  November  that  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton's  envelope  of  in 
structions  is  to  be  opened. 

As  ever  yours, 

JOHN  SMITH. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"DEAR  COUSIN  STANLEY" 

IT  was  very  early  in  November  that  Mr.  Smith,  com 
ing  home  one  afternoon,  became  instantly  aware  that 
something  very  extraordinary  had  happened. 

In  the  living-room  were  gathered  Mr.  Frank  Blais- 
dell,  his  wife,  Jane,  and  their  daughter,  Mellicent. 
Mellicent's  cheeks  were  pink,  and  her  eyes  more  star- 
like  than  ever.  Mrs.  Jane's  cheeks,  too,  were  pink. 
Her  eyes  were  excited,  but  incredulous.  Mr.  Frank 
was  still  in  his  white  work-coat,  which  he  wore  behind 
the  counter,  but  which  he  never  wore  upstairs  in  his 
home.  He  held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

It  was  an  ecstatic  cry  from  Mellicent  that  came 
first  to  Mr.  Smith's  ears. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Smith,  you  can't  guess  what's 
happened!  You  could  n't  guess  in  a  million  years!" 

"No?  Something  nice,  I  hope."  Mr.  Smith  was 
looking  almost  as  happily  excited  as  Mellicent  her 
self. 

"Nice  —  nice!"  Mellicent  clasped  her  hands  before 
her.  "Why,  Mr.  Smith,  we  are  going  to  have  a  hun 
dred  thousand  - 

"Mellicent,  I  wouldn't  talk  of  it  —  yet,"  inter 
fered  her  mother  sharply. 

"But,  mother,  it's  no  secret.  It  can't  be  kept  se 
cret!" 

"Of  course  not  —  if  it's  true.  But  it  is  n't  true,"  re- 

99 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

torted  the  woman,  with  excited  emphasis.  "No  man 
in  his  senses  would  do  such  a  thing." 

"Er  —  ah  —  w-what?  "  stammered  Mr.  Smith,  look 
ing  suddenly  a  little  less  happy.  * 

"Leave  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  apiece  to  three 
distant  relations  he  never  saw." 

"But  he  was  our  cousin  —  you  said  he  was  our 
cousin,"  interposed  Mellicent,  "and  when  he  died  — 

"The  letter  did  not  say  he  had  died,"  corrected  her 
mother.  "He  just  has  n't  been  heard  from.  But  he 
will  be  heard  from  —  and  then  where  will  our  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  be?" 

"But  the  lawyer's  coming  to  give  it  to  us,"  main 
tained  Mr.  Frank  stoutly.  Then  abruptly  he  turned 
to  Mr.  Smith.  "Here,  read  this,  please,  and  tell  us 
if  we  have  lost  our  senses  —  or  if  somebody  else  has." 

Mr.  Smith  took  the  letter.  A  close  observer  might 
have  noticed  that  his  hand  shook  a  little.  The  letter 
head  carried  the  name  of  a  Chicago  law  firm,  but  Mr. 
Smith  did  not  glance  at  that.  He  plunged  at  once  into 
the  text  of  the  letter. 

"Aloud,  please,  Mr.  Smith.  I  want  to  hear  it  again," 
pleaded  Mellicent. 

DEAE  SIR  (read  Mr.  Smith  then,  after  clearing  his  throat), 
- 1  understand  that  you  are  a  distant  kinsman  of  Mr. 
Stanley  G.  Fulton,  the  Chicago  millionaire. 

Some  six  months  ago  Mr.  Fulton  left  this  city  on  what 
was  reported  to  be  a  somewhat  extended  exploring  tour  of 
South  America.  Before  his  departure  he  transferred  to  me, 
as  trustee,  certain  securities  worth  about  $300,000.  He  left 
with  me  a  sealed  envelope,  entitled  "Terms  of  Trust," 
and  instructed  me  to  open  such  envelope  in  six  months  from 
the  date  written  thereon  —  if  he  had  not  returned  —  and 

100 


DEAR  COUSIN  STANLEY 

thereupon  to  dispose  of  the  securities  according  to  the 
terms  of  the  trust.  I  will  add  that  he  also  left  with  me  a 
second  sealed  envelope  entitled  "Last  Will  and  Testa 
ment,"  but  instructed  me  not  to  open  such  envelope  until 
two  years  from  the  date  written  thereon. 

The  period  of  six  months  has  now  expired.  I  have  opened 
the  envelope  entitled  "Terms  of  Trust,"  and  find  that  I 
am  directed  to  convert  the  securities  into  cash  with  all 
convenient  speed,  and  forthwith  to  pay  over  one  third  of 
the  net  proceeds  to  his  kinsman,  Frank  G.  Blaisdell;  one 
third  to  his  kinsman,  James  A.  Blaisdell;  and  one  third  to 
his  kinswoman,  Flora  B.  Blaisdell,  all  of  Hillerton. 

I  shall,  of  course,  discharge  my  duty  as  trustee  under 
this  instrument  with  all  possible  promptness.  Some  of  the 
securities  have  already  been  converted  into  cash,  and  within 
a  few  days  I  shall  come  to  Hillerton  to  pay  over  the  cash 
in  the  form  of  certified  checks;  and  I  shall  ask  you  at  that 
time  to  be  so  good  as  to  sign  a  receipt  for  your  share.  Mean 
while  this  letter  is  to  apprise  you  of  your  good  fortune  and 
to  offer  you  my  congratulations. 

Very  truly  yours, 

EDWARD  D.  NORTON. 

"Oh-h!"  breathed  Mellicent. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  demanded  Mr. 
Frank  Blaisdell,  his  arms  akimbo. 

"Why,  it's  fine,  of  course.  I  congratulate  you," 
cried  Mr.  Smith,  handing  back  the  letter. 

"Then  it's  all  straight,  you  think?" 

"Most  assuredly!" 

"Je-hos-a-phat!"  exploded  the  man. 

"But  he'll  come  back  —  you  see  if  he  don't!"  Mrs. 
Jane's  voice  was  still  positive. 

"What  if  he  does?  You'll  still  have  your  hundred 
thousand,"  smiled  Mr.  Smith. 

"He  won't  take  it  back?" 

101 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Of  course  not!  I  doubt  if  he  could,  if  he  wanted 
to." 

"And  we're  really  going  to  have  a  whole  hundred 
thousand  dollars?"  breathed  Mellicent. 

"I  reckon  you  are  —  less  the  inheritance  tax,  per 
haps." 

"What's  that?  What  do  you  mean?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Jane.  "Do  you  mean  we've  got  to  pay  because 
we've  got  that  money?" 

"Why,  y-yes,  I  suppose  so.  Is  n't  there  an  inherit 
ance  tax  hi  this  State?" 

"How  much  does  it  cost?"  Mrs.  Jane's  lips  were 
at  their  most  economical  pucker.  "Do  we  have  to 
pay  a  great  deal?  Is  n't  there  any  way  to  save  doing 
that?" 

"No,  there  is  n't,"  cut  in  her  husband  crisply.  "And 
I  guess  we  can  pay  the  inheritance  tax  —  with  a  hun 
dred  thousand  to  pay  it  out  of.  We're  going  to  spend 
some  of  this  money,  Jane." 

The  telephone  bell  in  the  hall  jangled  its  peremp 
tory  summons,  and  Mr.  Frank  answered  it.  In  a  min 
ute  he  returned,  a  new  excitement  on  his  face. 

"It's  Hattie.  She's  crazy,  of  course.  They're  com 
ing  right  over." 

"Oh,  yes!  And  they've  got  it,  too,  have  n't  they?" 
remembered  Mellicent.    "And  Aunt  Flora,  and  - 
She  stopped  suddenly,  a  growing  dismay  in  her  eyes. 
"Why,  he  did  n't  —  he  did  n't  leave  a  cent  to  Aunt 
Maggie  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Gosh !  that 's  so.  Say,  now,  that 's  too  bad ! "  There 
was  genuine  concern  in  Frank  Blaisdell's  voice. 

"But  why?"  almost  wept  Mellicent. 

102 


DEAR  COUSIN  STANLEY 

Her  mother  sighed  sympathetically. 

"Poor  Maggie!  How  she  is  left  out  —  always!" 

"But  we  can  give  her  some  of  ours,  mother,  —  we 
can  give  her  some  of  ours,"  urged  the  girl. 

"It  is  n't  ours  to  give  —  yet,"  remarked  her  mother, 
a  bit  coldly. 

"But,  mother,  you  will  do  it,"  importuned  Melli- 
cent.  "You've  always  said  you  would,  if  you  had  it 
to  give." 

"And  I  say  it  again,  Mellicent.  I  shall  never  see 
her  suffer,  you  may  be  sure,  —  if  I  have  the  money  to 
relieve  her.  But — "  She  stopped  abruptly  at  the 
sound  of  an  excited  voice  down  the  hall.  Miss  Flora, 
evidently  coming  in  through  the  kitchen,  was  hurry 
ing  toward  them. 

"Jane  —  Mellicent  —  where  are  you?  Isn't  any 
body  here?  Mercy  me!"  she  panted,  as  she  reached 
the  room  and  sank  into  a  chair.  "Did  you  ever  hear 
anything  like  it  in  all  your  life?  You  had  one,  too, 
did  n't  you?"  she  cried,  her  eyes  falling  on  the  letter 
in  her  brother's  hand.  "But  't  ain't  true,  of  course!" 

Miss  Flora  wore  no  head-covering.  She  wore  one 
glove  (wrong  side  out),  and  was  carrying  the  other 
one.  Her  dress,  evidently  donned  hastily  for  the  street, 
was  unevenly  fastened,  showing  the  topmost  button 
without  a  buttonhole. 

"Mr.  Smith  says  it 's  true,"  triumphed  Mellicent. 

"How  does  he  know?  Who  told  him  't  was  true?" 
demanded  Miss  Flora. 

So  almost  accusing  was  the  look  in  her  eyes  that 
Mr.  Smith  actually  blinked  a  little.  He  grew  visibly 
confused. 

103 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Why  —  er — ah  —  the  letter  speaks  for  itself, 
Miss  Flora,"  he  stammered. 

"But  it  can't  be  true,"  reiterated  Miss  Flora.  "The 
idea  of  a  man  I  never  saw  giving  me  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  like  that!  —  and  Frank  and  Jim,  too!" 

"But  he's  your  cousin  —  you  said  he  was  your 
cousin,"  Mr.  Smith  reminded  her.  "And  you  have 
his  picture  in  your  album.  You  showed  it  to  me." 

"I  know  it.  But,  mysakes!  I  did  n't  know  he  knew 
I  was  his  cousin.  I  don't  s'pose  he's  got  my  picture 
in  his  album!  But  how  did  he  know  about  us?  It's 
some  other  Flora  Blaisdell,  I  tell  you." 

"There,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  cried  Jane.  "It 
probably  is  some  other  Blaisdells.  Well,  anyhow,  if 
it  is,  we  won't  have  to  pay  that  inheritance  tax.  We 
can  save  that  much." 

"Save!  Well,  what  do  we  lose?"  demanded  her  hus 
band  apoplectically. 

At  this  moment  the  rattling  of  the  front-door  knob 
and  an  imperative  knocking  brought  Mrs.  Jane  to  her 
feet. 

"There's  Hattie,  now,  and  that  door's  locked,"  she 
cried,  hurrying  into  the  hall. 

When  she  returned  a  moment  later  Harriet  Blais 
dell  and  Bessie  were  with  her. 

There  was  about  Mrs.  Harriet  Blaisdell  a  new,  in 
describable  air  of  commanding  importance.  To  Mr. 
Smith  she  appeared  to  have  grown  inches  taller. 

"Well,  I  do  hope,  Jane,  now  you'll  live  in  a  decent 
place,"  she  was  saying,  as  they  entered  the  room, 
"and  not  oblige  your  friends  to  climb  up  over  a  gro 
cery  store." 

104 


DEAR  COUSIN  STANLEY 

"Well,  I  guess  you  can  stand  the  grocery  store  a 
few  more  days,  Hattie,"  observed  Frank  Blaisdell 
dryly.  "How  long  do  you  s'pose  we'd  live  —  any  of 
us  —  if  't  wa'n't  for  the  grocery  stores  to  feed  us? 
Where's  Jim?" 

"Is  n't  he  here?  I  told  him  I  was  coming  here,  and 
to  come  right  over  himself  at  once;  that  the  very  first 
thing  we  must  have  was  a  family  conclave,  just  our 
selves,  you  know,  so  as  to  plan  what  to  give  out  to  the 
public." 

"Er  —  ah-  '  Mr.  Smith  was  on  his  feet,  looking 
somewhat  embarrassed;  "perhaps,  then,  you  would 
rather  I  were  not  present  at  the  —  er  —  family  con 
clave." 

"Nonsense!"  scouted  Frank  Blaisdell. 

"Why,  you  are  one  of  the  family,  'seems  so,"  cried 
Mellicent. 

"No,  indeed,  Mr.  Smith,  don't  go,"  smiled  Mrs. 
Hattie  pleasantly.  "Besides,  you  are  interested  in 
what  concerns  us,  I  know  —  for  the  book;  so,  of 
course,  you'll  be  interested  in  this  legacy  of  dear 
Cousin  Stanley's." 

Mr.  Smith  collapsed  suddenly  behind  his  handker 
chief,  with  one  of  the  choking  coughs  to  which  he 
appeared  to  be  somewhat  addicted. 

"Ain't  you  getting  a  little  familiar  with  'dear 
Cousin  Stanley,'  Hattie?"  drawled  Frank  Blaisdell. 

Miss  Flora  leaned  forward  earnestly. 

"But,  Hattie,  we  were  just  sayin',  'fore  you  came, 
that  it  could  n't  be  true;  that  it  must  mean  some  other 
Blaisdells  somewhere." 

"Absurd!"  scoffed  Harriet.    "There  couldn't  be 

105 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

any  other  Frank  and  Jim  and  Flora  Blaisdell,  in  a 
Hillerton,  too.  Besides,  Jim  said  over  the  telephone 
that  that  was  one  of  the  best  law  firms  in  Chicago. 
Don't  you  suppose  they  know  what  they're  talking 
about?  I'm  sure,  I  think  it  's  quite  the  expected  thing 
that  he  should  leave  his  money  to  his  own  people. 
Come,  don't  let's  waste  any  more  time  over  that. 
What  we've  got  to  decide  is  what  to  do.  First,  of 
course,  we  must  order  expensive  mourning  all  around." 

"Mourning!"  ejaculated  an  amazed  chorus. 

"Oh,  great  Scott!"  spluttered  Mr.  Smith,  growing 
suddenly  very  red.  "I  never  thought  —  '  He  stopped 
abruptly,  his  face  almost  purple. 

But  nobody  was  noticing  Mr.  Smith.  Bessie  Blais 
dell  had  the  floor. 

"Why,  mother,  I  look  perfectly  horrid  in  black, 
you  know  I  do,"  she  was  wailing.  "And  there's  the 
Gaylords'  dance  just  next  week;  and  if  I'm  in  mourn 
ing  I  can't  go  there,  nor  anywhere.  What's  the  use  in 
having  all  that  money  if  we've  got  to  shut  ourselves 
up  like  that,  and  wear  horrid  stuffy  black,  and  every 
thing?" 

"For  shame,  Bessie!"  spoke  up  Miss  Flora,  with 
unusual  sharpness  for  her.  "I  think  your  mother  is 
just  right.  I  'm  sure  the  least  we  can  do  in  return  for 
this  wonderful  gift  is  to  show  our  respect  and  appre 
ciation  by  going  into  the  very  deepest  black  we  can. 
I  'm  sure  I  'd  be  glad  to." 

"Wait!"  Mrs.  Harriet  had  drawn  her  brows  to 
gether  in  deep  thought.  "I'm  not  sure,  after  all,  that 
it  would  be  best.  The  letter  did  not  say  that  dear 
Cousin  Stanley  had  died  —  he  just  had  n't  been  heard 

106 


DEAR  COUSIN  STANLEY 

from.  In  that  case,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  do  it. 
And  it  would  be  too  bad  —  that  Gaylord  dance  is 
going  to  be  the  biggest  thing  of  the  season,  and  of 
course  if  we  were  in  black  —  No;  on  the  whole,  I  think 
we  won't,  Bessie.  Of  course,  in  two  years  from  now, 
when  we  get  the  rest,  it  will  be  different." 

"When  you  —  what?"  It  was  a  rather  startled 
question  from  Mr.  Smith. 

"Oh,  didn't  you  know?  There's  another  letter  to 
be  opened  in  two  years  from  now,  disposing  of  the 
rest  of  the  property.  And  he  was  worth  millions,  you 
know,  millions!" 

"But  maybe  he  —  er  —  -  Did  it  say  you  were  to  — 
to  get  those  millions  then?" 

"Oh,  no,  it  did  n't  say  it,  Mr.  Smith."  Mrs.  Harriet 
Blaisdell's  smile  was  a  bit  condescending.  "But  of 
course  we  will.  We  are  his  kinsmen.  He  said  we  were. 
He  just  did  n't  give  it  all  now  because  he  wanted  to 
give  himself  two  more  years  to  come  back  in,  I  sup 
pose.  You  know  he's  gone  exploring.  And,  of  course, 
if  he  had  n't  come  back  by  then,  he  would  be  dead. 
Then  we'd  get  it  all.  Oh,  yes,  we  shall  get  it,  I'm 
sure." 

"Oh-h!"  Mr.  Smith  settled  back  in  his  chair.  He 
looked  somewhat  nonplused. 

"Humph!  Well,  I  wouldn't  spend  them  millions 
—  till  I  'd  got  'em,  Hattie,"  advised  her  brother-in- 
law  dryly. 

"I  was  n't  intending  to,  Frank,"  she  retorted  with 
some  dignity.  "But  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
Wrhat  we're  concerned  with  now  is  what  to  do  with 
what  we  have  got.  Even  this  will  make  a  tremendous 

107 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

sensation  in  Hillerton.  It  ought  to  be  written  up,  of 
course,  for  the  papers,  and  by  some  one  who  knows. 
We  want  it  done  just  right.  Why,  Frank,  do  you  real 
ize?  We  shall  be  rich  —  rich  —  and  all  in  a  flash  like 
this !  I  wonder  what  the  Pennocks  will  say  now  about 
Mellicent's  not  having  money  enough  for  that  pre 
cious  son  of  theirs!  Oh,  I  can  hardly  believe  it  yet. 
And  it  '11  mean  —  everything  to  us.  Think  what  we 
can  do  for  the  children.  Think  — ". 

"Aunt  Jane,  Aunt  Jane,  is  ma  here?"  Wide  open 
banged  the  front  door  as  Benny  bounded  down  the 
hall.  "Oh,  here  you  are!  Say,  is  it  true?  Tommy 
Hooker  says  our  great-grandfather  in  Africa  has  died 
an'  left  us  a  million  dollars,  an'  that  we're  richer  'n 
Mr.  Pennock  or  even  the  Gaylords,  or  anybody!  Is 
it  true?  Is  it?" 

His  mother  laughed  indulgently. 

"Not  quite,  Benny,  though  we  have  been  left  a  nice 
little  fortune  by  your  cousin,  Stanley  G.  Fulton  - 
remember  the  name,  dear,  your  cousin,  Stanley  G. 
Fulton.  And  it  was  n't  Africa,  it  was  South  America." 

"And  did  you  all  get  some,  too?"  panted  Benny, 
looking  eagerly  about  him. 

"We  sure  did,"  nodded  his  Uncle  Frank,  "all  but 
poor  Mr.  Smith  here.  I  guess  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton 
did  n't  know  he  was  a  cousin,  too,"  he  joked,  with  a 
wink  in  Mr.  Smith's  direction. 

"But  where 's  Aunt  Maggie?  Why  ain't  she  here? 
She  got  some,  too,  did  n't  she?"  Benny  began  to  look 
anxious. 

His  mother  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"No.   You  forget,  my  dear.   Your  Aunt  Maggie  is 

108 


DEAK  COUSIN  STANLEY 

not  a  Blaisdell  at  all.  She's  a  Duff  • —  a  very  different 
family." 

"I  don't  care,  she's  just  as  good  as  a  Blaisdell,"  cut 
in  Mellicent;  "and  she  seems  like  one  of  us,  anyway." 

"And  she  did  n't  get  anything?"  bemoaned  Benny. 
"Say,"  he  turned  valiantly  to  Mr.  Smith,  "should  n't 
you  think  he  might  have  given  Aunt  Maggie  a  little 
of  that  money?" 

"I  should,  indeed!"  Mr.  Smith  spoke  with  peculiar 
emphasis. 

"I  guess  he  would  if  he'd  known  her!" 

"I'm  sure  he  would!"  Once  more  the  peculiar 
earnestness  vibrated  through  Mr.  Smith's  voice. 

"But  now  he's  dead,  an'  he  can't.  I  guess  if  he 
could  see  Aunt  Maggie  he  'd  wish  he  had  n't  died  'fore 
he  could  fix  her  up  just  as  good  as  the  rest." 

"I'm  very  sure  he  would!"  Mr.  Smith  was  laughing 
now,  but  his  voice  was  just  as  emphatic,  and  there  was 
a  sudden  flame  of  color  in  his  face. 

"Your  Cousin  Stanley  isn't  dead,  my  dear,  —  that 
is,  we  are  not  sure  he  is  dead,"  spoke  up  Benny's 
mother  quickly.  "He  just  has  not  been  heard  from 
for  six  months." 

"But  he  must  be  dead,  or  he'd  have  come  back," 
reasoned  Miss  Flora,  with  worried  eyes;  "and  I,  for 
my  part,  think  we  ought  to  go  into  mourning,  too." 

"Of  course  he'd  have  come  back,"  declared  Mrs. 
Jane,  "and  kept  the  money  himself.  Don't  you  sup 
pose  he  knew  what  he'd  written  in  that  letter,  and 
don't  you  suppose  he'd  have  saved  those  three  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  if  he  could?  Well,  I  guess  he 
would!  The  man  is  dead.  That's  certain  enough." 

109 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Well,  anyhow,  we're  not  going  into  mourning  till 
we  have  to."  Mrs.  Harriet's  lips  snapped  together  with 
firm  decision. 

"Of  course  not.  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  any  use  in 
having  the  money  if  we've  got  to  wear  black  and  not 
go  anywhere,"  pouted  Bessie. 

"Are  we  rich,  then,  really,  ma?"  demanded  Benny. 

"We  certainly  are,  Benny." 

"Richer  'n  the  Pennocks?" 

"Very  much." 

"An'theGaylords?" 

"Well  —  hardly  that"  —her  face  clouded  percep 
tibly-  "that  is,  not  until  we  get  the  rest  —  in  two 
years."  She  brightened  again. 

"Then,  if  we  're  rich  we  can  have  everything  we  want, 
can't  we?  "  Benny's  eyes  were  beginning  to  sparkle. 

"Well  -    "  hesitated  his  mother. 

"I  guess  there'll  be  enough  to  satisfy  your  wants, 
Benny,"  laughed  his  Uncle  Frank. 

Benny  gave  a  whoop  of  delight. 

"Then  we  can  go  back  to  the  East  Side  and  live  just 
as  we've  a  mind  to,  without  carin'  what  other  folks  do, 
can't  we?"  he  crowed.  "'Cause  if  we  are  rich  we  won't 
have  ter  keep  tryin'  ter  make  folks  think  we  are. 
They'll  know  it  without  our  tryin'." 

"Benny!"    The  rest  were  laughing;  but  Benny's 
mother  had  raised  shocked  hands  of  protest.    "You 
are  incorrigible,  child.    The  East  Side,  indeed!    We 
shall   live  in  a  house  of  our  own,  now,  of  course  - 
but  it  won't  be  on  the  East  Side." 

"And  Fred '11  go  to  college,"  put  in  Miss  Flora 
eagerly. 

110 


DEAK  COUSIN  STANLEY 

"Yes;  and  I  shall  send  Bessie  to  a  fashionable  finish 
ing  school,"  bowed  Mrs.  Harriet,  with  a  shade  of  im 
portance. 

"Hey,  Bess,  you've  got  ter  be  finished,"  chuckled 
Benny. 

"What's  Mell  going  to  do?"  pouted  Bessie,  looking 
not  altogether  pleased.  "Hasn't  she  got  to  be  fin 
ished,  too?" 

"Mellicent  has  n't  got  the  money  to  be  finished  — 
yet,"  observed  Mrs.  Jane  tersely. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  breathed 
Mellicent,  drawing  an  ecstatic  sigh.  "But  I  hope 
I'm  going  to  do  —  just  what  I  want  to,  for  once!" 

"And  I'll  make  you  some  pretty  dresses  that  you 
can  wear  right  off,  while  they're  in  style,"  beamed 
Miss  Flora. 

Frank  Blaisdell  gave  a  sudden  laugh. 

"But  what  are  you  going  .to  do,  Flo?  Here  you've 
been  telling  what  everybody  else  is  going  to  do  with 
the  money." 

A  blissful  sigh,  very  like  Mellicent's  own,  passed 
Miss  Flora's  lips. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  breathed  in  an  awe-struck 
voice.  "It  don't  seem  yet  —  that  it's  really  mine." 

"Well,  't  is  n't,"  declared  Mrs.  Jane  tartly,  getting 

to  her  feet.    "And  I,  for  one,  am  going  back  to  work 

-  in  the  kitchen,  where  I  belong.    And  —  Well,  if 

here  ain't  Jim  at  last,"  she  broke  off,  as  her  younger 

brother-in-law  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"You  're  too  late,  pa,  you  're  too  late !  It 's  all  done," 
clamored  Benny.  "They've  got  everything  all  set 
tled." 

Ill 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

The  man  in  the  doorway  smiled. 

"I  knew  they  would  have,  Benny;  and  I  haven't 
been  needed,  I'm  sure,  —  your  mother's  here." 

Mrs.  Harriet  bridled,  but  did  not  look  unpleased. 

"But,  say,  Jim,"  breathed  Miss  Flora,  "ain't  it 
wonderful  —  ain't  it  perfectly  wonderful?" 

"It  is,  indeed,  —  very  wonderful,"  replied  Mr.  Jim. 

A  Babel  of  eager  voices  arose  then,  but  Mr.  Smith 
was  not  listening  now.  He  was  watching  Mr.  Jim's 
face,  and  trying  to  fathom  its  expression. 

A  little  later,  when  the  women  had  gone  into  the 
kitchen  and  Mr.  Frank  had  clattered  back  to  his  work 
downstairs,  Mr.  Smith  thought  he  had  the  explanation 
of  that  look  on  Mr.  Jim's  face.  Mr.  Jim  and  Benny 
were  standing  over  by  the  fireplace  together. 

"Pa,  ain't  you  glad  —  about  the  money?"  asked 
Benny. 

"I  should  be,  should  n't  I,  my  son?" 

"But  you  look  —  so  funny,  and  you  didn't  say 
anything,  hardly." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  The  man,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  glowing  coals  in  the  grate,  appeared 
not  to  have  heard.  But  in  a  moment  he  said :  —  i 

"Benny,  if  a  poor  old  horse  had  been  climbing  a  long, 
long  hill  all  day  with  the  hot  sun  on  his  back,  and  a  load 
that  dragged  and  dragged  at  his  heels,  and  if  he  could 
n't  see  a  thing  but  the  dust  of  the  road  that  blinded 
and  choked  him,  and  if  he  just  felt  that  he  could  n't 
go  another  step,  in  spite  of  the  whip  that  snapped  '  Get 
there  —  get  there !  *  all  day  in  his  ears  —  how  do  you 
suppose  that  poor  old  horse  would  feel  if  suddenly 
the  load,  and  the  whip,  and  the  hill,  and  the  dust  dis- 

112 


DEAR  COUSIN  STANLEY 

appeared,  and  he  found  himself  in  a  green  pasture 
with  the  cool  gurgle  of  water  under  green  trees  in  his 
ears  —  how  do  you  suppose  that  poor  old  horse  would 
feel?" 

"Say,  he'd  like  it  great,  wouldn't  he?  But,  pa, 
you  did  n't  tell  me  yet  if  you  liked  the  money." 

The  man  stirred,  as  if  waking  from  a  trance.  He 
threw  his  arm  around  Benny's  shoulders. 

"Like  it?  Why,  of  course,  I  like  it,  Benny,  my  boy! 
Why,  I'm  going  to  have  time  now  —  to  get  ac 
quainted  with  my  children!" 

Across  the  room  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  sudden  tighten 
ing  of  his  throat,  slipped  softly  into  the  hall  and  thence 
to  his  own  room.  Mr.  Smith,  just  then,  did  not  wish 
to  be  seen. 


CHAPTER  X 

WHAT   DOES   IT   MATTER? 

THE  days  immediately  following  the  receipt  of  those 
three  remarkable  letters  by  the  Blaisdell  family  were 
nerve-racking  for  all  concerned.  Held  by  Mrs.  Jane's 
insistence  that  they  were  n't  sure  yet  that  the  thing 
was  true,  the  family  steadfastly  refused  to  give  out 
any  definite  information.  Even  the  eager  Harriet 
yielded  to  Jane  on  this  point,  acknowledging  that  it 
would  be  mortifying,  of  course,  if  they  should  talk, 
and  nothing  came  of  it. 

Their  enigmatic  answers  to  questions,  and  their 
expressive  shrugs  and  smiles,  however,  were  almost  as 
exciting  as  the  rumors  themselves;  and  the  Blaisdells 
became  at  once  a  veritable  storm  center  of  surmises 
and  gossip  —  a  state  of  affairs  not  at  all  unpleasing  to 
some  of  them,  Mrs.  Harriet  in  particular. 

Miss  Maggie  Duff,  however,  was  not  so  well  pleased. 
To  Mr.  Smith,  one  day,  she  freed  her  mind  —  and 
Miss  Maggie  so  seldom  freed  her  mind  that  Mr. 
Smith  was  not  a  little  surprised. 

"I  wish,"  she  began,  "I  do  wish  that  if  that  Chicago 
lawyer  is  coming,  he'd  come,  and  get  done  with  it! 
Certainly  the  present  state  of  affairs  is  almost  un 
bearable." 

"It  does  make  it  all  the  harder  for  you,  to  have  it 
drag  along  like  this,  does  n't  it? "  murmured  Mr. 
Smith  uneasily. 

114 


WHAT  DOES  IT  MATTER? 

"For  — me?" 

"That  you  are  not  included  in  the  bequest,  I  mean." 

She  gave  an  impatient  gesture. 

"I  did  n't  mean  that.  I  was  n't  thinking  of  myself. 
Besides,  as  I've  told  you  before,  there  is  no  earthly 
reason  why  I  should  have  been  included.  It's  the  de 
lay,  I  mean,  for  the  Blaisdells  —  for  the  whole  town, 
for  that  matter.  This  eternal  'Did  you  know?'  and 
'They  say'  is  getting  on  my  nerves!" 

"Why,  Miss  Maggie,  I  did  n't  suppose  you  had  any 
nerves,"  bantered  the  man. 

She  threw  him  an  expressive  glance. 

"Haven't  I!"  she  retorted.  Then  again  she  gave 
the  impatient  gesture.  "But  even  the  gossip  and  the 
questioning  are  n't  the  worst.  It 's  the  family  them 
selves.  Between  Hattie's  pulling  one  way  and  Jane 
the  other,  I  feel  like  a  bone  between  two  quarrelsome 
puppies.  Hattie  is  already  house-hunting,  on  the  sly, 
and  she's  bought  Bessie  an  expensive  watch  and  a 
string  of  gold  beads.  Jane,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
sists  that  Mr.  Fulton  will  come  back  and  claim  the 
money,  so  she's  running  her  house  now  on  the  prin 
ciple  that  she's  lost  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and 
so  must  economize  in  every  possible  way.  You  can 
imagine  it!" 

"I  don't  have  to  —  imagine  it,"  murmured  the  man. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed. 

"I  forgot.  Of  course  you  don't.  You  do  live  there, 
don't  you?  But  that  is  n't  all.  Flora,  poor  soul,  went 
into  a  restaurant  the  other  day  and  ordered  roast  tur 
key,  and  now  she 's  worrying  for  fear  the  money  won't 
come  and  justify  her  extravagance.  Mellicent,  with 

115 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

implicit  faith  that  the  hundred  thousand  is  coming, 
wants  to  wear  her  best  frocks  every  day.  And,  as 
if  she  were  not  already  quite  excited  enough,  young 
Pennock  has  very  obviously  begun  to  sit  up  and  take 
notice." 

"You  don't  mean  he  is  trying  to  come  back  —  so 
soon!"  disbelieved  Mr.  Smith. 

"Well,  he's  evidently  caught  the  glitter  of  the  gold 
from  afar,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie.  "At  all  events,  he's 
taking  notice." 

"And— Miss  Mellicent?"  There  was  a  note  of 
anxiety  in  Mr.  Smith's  voice. 

"Does  n't  see  him,  apparently.  But  she  comes  and 
tells  me  his  every  last  move  (and  he's  making  quite 
a  number  of  them  just  now!),  so  I  think  she  does  see 
-  a  little." 

"The  young  rascal!  But  she  does  n't —  care?" 

"I  think  not — really.  She's  just  excited  now,  as 
any  young  girl  would  be;  and  I'm  afraid  she's  taking 
a  little  wicked  pleasure  in —  not  seeing  him." 

"Humph!  I  can  imagine  it,"  chuckled  Mr.  Smith. 

"But  it's  all  bad —  this  delay,"  chafed  Miss  Mag 
gie  again.  "Don't  you  see?  It's  neither  one  thing 
nor  another.  That 's  why  I  do  wish  that  lawyer  would 
come,  if  he's  coming." 

"I  reckon  he'll  be  here  before  long,"  murmured 
Mr.  Smith,  with  an  elaborately  casual  air.  "But  —  I 
wish  you  were  coming  in  on  the  deal."  His  kindly 
eyes  were  gazing  straight  into  her  face  now. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  a  Duff,  not  a  Blaisdell — except  when  they 
want—  She  bit  her  lip.  A  confused  red  suffused 

116 


WHAT  DOES  IT  MATTER? 

her  face.  "I  mean,  I'm  not  a  Blaisdell  at  all,"  she  fin 
ished  hastily. 

"Humph!  That's  exactly  it!"  Mr.  Smith  was  sit 
ting  energetically  erect.  "You're  not  a  Blaisdell  — 
except  when  they  want  something  of  you!  " 

"Oh,  please,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  —  I  didn't  say 
—  that,"  cried  Miss  Maggie,  in  very  genuine  distress. 

"No,  I  know  you  did  n't,  but  I  did,"  flared  the  man. 
"  Miss  Maggie,  it 's  a  downright  shame  —  the  way 
they  impose  on  you  sometimes." 

"Nonsense!  I  like  to  have  them — I  mean,  I  like 
to  do  what  I  can  for  them,"  she  corrected  hastily, 
laughing  in  spite  of  herself. 

"You  like  to  get  all  tired  out,  I  suppose." 

"I  get  rested —  afterward." 

"And  it  does  n't  matter,  anyway,  of  course,"  he 
gibed. 

"Not  a  bit,"  she  smiled. 

"Yes,  I  suspected  that."  Mr.  Smith  was  still  sitting 
erect,  still  speaking  with  grim  terseness.  "But  let  me 
tell  you  right  here  and  now  that  I  don't  approve  of 
that  doctrine  of  yours." 

"'Doctrine'?" 

"That  'It-does-n't-matter'  doctrine  of  yours.  I  tell 
you  it's  very  pernicious  —  very!  I  don't  approve  of 
it  at  all." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"No?"  Miss  Maggie  said  then,  demurely.  "Oh, 
well —  it  does  n't  matter  —  if  you  don't." 

He  caught  the  twinkle  in  her  eyes  and  threw  up  his 
hands  despairingly. 

"You  are  incorrigible!" 

117 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

With  a  sudden  businesslike  air  of  determination 
Miss  Maggie  faced  him. 

"Just  what  is  the  matter  with  that  doctrine,  please, 
and  what  do  you  mean?"  she  smiled. 

"I  mean  that  things  do  matter,  and  that  we  merely 
shut  our  eyes  to  the  real  facts  in  the  case  when  we  say 
that  they  don't.  War,  death,  sin,  evil  —  the  world  is 
full  of  them,  and  they  do  matter." 

"They  do  matter,  indeed."  Miss  Maggie  was  speak 
ing  very  gravely  now.  "They  matter  —  woefully. 
I  never  say  'It  doesn't  matter'  to  war,  or  death,  or 
sin,  or  evil.  But  there  are  other  things  - 

"But  the  other  things  matter,  too,"  interrupted 
the  man  irritably.  "Right  here  and  now  it  matters 
that  you  don't  share  in  the  money;  it  matters  that 
you  slave  half  your  time  for  a  father  who  does  n't  any 
where  near  appreciate  you;  it  matters  that  you  slave 
the  rest  of  the  time  for  every  Tom  and  Dick  and  Harry 
and  Jane  and  Mehitable  in  Hillerton  that  has  run  a 
sliver  under  a  thumb,  either  literally  or  metaphori 
cally.  It  matters  that  — 

But  Miss  Maggie  was  laughing  merrily.  "Oh,  Mr. 
Smith,  Mr.  Smith,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying ! " 

"I  do,  too.  It's  you  who  don't  know  what  you  are 
saying!" 

"But,  pray,  what  would  you  have  me  say?"  she 
smiled. 

"I'd  have  you  say  it  does  matter,  and  I'd  have  you 
insist  on  having  your  rights,  every  time." 

"And  what  if  I  had?"  she  retaliated  sharply.  "My 
rights,  indeed!" 

The  man  fell  back,  so  sudden  and  so  astounding 

118 


WHAT  DOES  IT  MATTER? 

was  the  change  that  had  come  to  the  woman  opposite 
him.  She  was  leaning  forward  in  her  chair,  her  lips 
trembling,  her  eyes  a  smouldering  flame. 

"What  if  I  had  insisted  on  my  rights,  all  the  way 
up?"  she  quivered.  "Would  I  have  come  home  that 
first  time  from  college?  Would  I  have  stepped  into 
Mother  Blaisdell's  shoes  and  kept  the  house?  ^Would 
I  have  swept  and  baked  and  washed  and  ironed,  day 
in  and  day  out,  to  make  a  home  for  father  and  for 
Jim  and  Frank  and  Flora?  Would  I  have  come  back 
again  and  again,  when  my  beloved  books  were  calling, 
calling,  always  calling?  Would  I  have  seen  other  girls 
love  and  marry  and  go  to  homes  of  their  own,  while 
I  -  -  Oh,  what  am  I  saying,  what  am  I  saying? "  she 
choked,  covering  her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hand, 
and  turning  her  face  away.  "Please,  if  you  can,  for 
get  what  I  said.  Indeed,  I  never  —  broke  out  like  that 
—  before.  I  am  so  —  ashamed ! " 

"Ashamed!  Well,  you  need  n't  be."  Mr.  Smith,  on 
his  feet,  was  trying  to  work  off  his  agitation  by  tramp 
ing  up  and  down  the  small  room. 

"But  I  am  ashamed,"  moaned  Miss  Maggie,  her 
face  still  averted.  "And  I  can't  think  why  I  should 
have  been  so  —  so  wild.  It  was  just  something  that 
you  said  —  about  my  rights,  I  think.  You  see  —  all 
my  life  I've  just  had  to  learn  to  say  'It  does  n't  mat 
ter,'  when  there  were  so  many  things  I  wanted  to  do, 
and  could  n't.  And  —  don't  you  see?  —  I  found  out, 
after  a  while,  that  it  did  n't  really  matter,  half  so 
much  —  college  and  my  own  little  wants  and  wishes 
• —  as  that  I  should  do —  what  I  had  to  do,  willingly 
and  pleasantly  at  home." 

119 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"But,  good  Heavens,  how  could  you  keep  from 
tearing  'round  and  throwing  things?  " 

"I  could  n't —  all  the  time.  I —  I  smashed  a  bowl 
once,  and  two  cups."  She  laughed  shamefacedly,  and 
met  his  eyes  now.  "But  I  soon  found  —  that  it  did  n't 
make  me  or  anybody  else  —  any  happier,  and  that  it 
did  n't  help  things  at  all.  So  I  tried  —  to  do  the  other 
way.  And  now,  please,  please  say  you'll  forget  all 
this  —  what  I  Ve  been  saying.  Indeed,  Mr.  Smith,  I 
am  very  much  ashamed." 

"Forget  it!"  Mr.  Smith  turned  on  his  heel  and 
marched  up  and  down  the  room  again.  "Confound 
that  man!" 

"Whatman?" 

"Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  if  you  must  know,  for  not 
giving  you  any  of  that  money." 

"Money,  money,  money!"  Miss  Maggie  threw  out 
both  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  repulsion.  "If  I've 
heard  that  word  once,  I've  heard  it  a  hundred  times 
in  the  last  week.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  might  never  hear 
it  again." 

"You  don't  want  to  be  deaf,  do  you?  Well,  you'd 
have  to  be,  to  escape  hearing  that  word." 

"I  suppose  so.  But—  '  again  she  threw  out  her 
hands. 

"You  don't  mean-         Mr.  Smith  was  regarding 
her  with  curious  interest.   "Don't  you  want —  money, 
really?" 
\She  hesitated;  then  she  sighed. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.  We  all  want  money.  We  have 
to  have  money,  too;  but  I  don't  think  it's —  every 
thing  in  the  world,  by  any  means." 

120 


WHAT  DOES  IT  MATTER? 

"You  don't  think  it  brings  happiness,  then?" 

"Sometimes.   Sometimes  not." 

"Most  of  —  er — us  would  be  willing  to  take  the 
risk." 

"  Most  of  us  would." 

"Now,  in  the  case  of  the  Blaisdells  here  —  don't 
you  think  this  money  is  going  to  bring  happiness  to 
them?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Miss  Maggie  seemed  to  be 
thinking. 

"Miss  Maggie,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  con 
cern  all  out  of  proportion  to  his  supposed  interest  in 
the  matter,  "you  don't  mean  to  say  you  don't  think 
this  money  is  going  to  bring  them  happiness!" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  a  little. 

"Oh,  no!  This  money '11  bring  them  happiness  all 
right,  of  course,  —  particularly  to  some  of  them.  But 
I  was  just  wondering;  if  you  don't  know  how  to  spend 
five  dollars  so  as  to  get  the  most  out  of  it,  how  will 
you  spend  five  hundred,  or  five  hundred  thousand  — 
and  get  the  most  out  of  that?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

But  Miss  Maggie  shook  her  head. 

"Nothing.  I  was  just  thinking,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SANTA   CLAUS   ARRIVES 

IT  was  not  long  after  this  that  Mr.  Smith  found  a  tall, 
gray-haired  man,  with  keen  gray  eyes,  talking  with 
Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell  and  Mellicent  in  the  frontjroom 
over  the  grocery  store. 

"Well  -  "  began  Mr.  Smith,  a  joyful  light  of  recog 
nition  in  his  ej'es.  Then  suddenly  he  stooped  and 
picked  up  something  from  the  floor.  When  he  came 
upright  his  face  was  very  red.  He  did  not  look  at  the 
tall,  gray-haired  man  again  as  he  advanced  into  the 
room. 

Mellicent  turned  to  him  eagerly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  it's  the  lawyer —  he's  come.  And 
it's  true.  It  is  true!" 

"This  is  Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Norton,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Jane  Blaisdell  to  the  keen-eyed  man,  who,  also,  for  no 
apparent  reason,  had  grown  very  red.  "Mr.  Smith's 
a  Blaisdell,  too,  —  distant,  you  know.  He's  doing  a 
Blaisdell  book." 

"Indeed!    How  interesting!    How  are  you,  Mr.— 
Smith?"  The  lawyer  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand, 
but  there  was  an  odd  constraint  in  his  manner.    "So 
you're  a  Blaisdell,  too,  are  you?" 

"Er  —  yes,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  smiling  straight  into 
the  lawyer's  eyes. 

"But  not  near  enough  to  come  in  on  the  money,  of 
course,"  explained  Mrs.  Jane.  "He  isn't  a  Hiller- 

122 


SANTA  GLAUS  ARRIVES 

ton  Blaisdell.  He's  just  boarding  here,  while  he  writes 
his  book." 

"Oh,  I  see.  So  he  is  n't  near  enough  to  come  in — 
on  the  money."  This  time  it  was  the  lawyer  who  was 
smiling  straight  into  Mr.  Smith's  eyes. 

But  he  did  not  smile  for  long.  A  sudden  question 
from  Mellicent  seemed  to  freeze  the  smile  on  his  lips. 

"Mr.  Norton,  please,  what  was  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton 
like?"  she  begged. 

"Why — er — you  must  have  seen  his  pictures  in 
the  papers,"  stammered  the  lawyer. 

"Yes,  what  was  he  like?  Do  tell  us,"  urged  Mr. 
Smith  with  a  bland  smile,  as  he  seated  himself. 

"Why  —  er-  '  The  lawyer  came  to  a  still  more 
unhappy  pause. 

"Of  course,  we've  seen  his  pictures,"  broke  in  Melli 
cent,  "but  those  don't  tell  us  anything.  And  you  knew 
him.  So  won't  you  tell  us  what  he  was  like,  please, 
while  we're  waiting  for  father  to  come  up?  Was  he 
nice  and  jolly,  or  was  he  stiff  and  haughty?  What  was 
he  like?" 

"Yes,  what  was  he  like?"  coaxed  Mr.  Smith  again. 
Mr.  Smith,  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  be  highly 
amused. 

The  lawyer  lifted  his  head  suddenly.  An  odd  flash 
came  to  his  eyes. 

"Like?  Oh,  just  an  ordinary  man,  you  know, — 
somewhat  conceited,  of  course."  (A  queer  little  half- 
gasp  came  from  Mr.  Smith,  but  the  lawyer  was  not 
looking  at  Mr.  Smith.)  "Eccentric — you've  heard 
that,  probably.  And  he  has  done  crazy  things,  and  no 
mistake.  Of  course,  with  his  money  and  position,  we 

123 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

won't  exactly  say  he  had  bats  in  his  belfry  —  is  n't 
that  what  they  call  it?  —  but  — 

Mr.  Smith  gave  a  real  gasp  this  time,  and  Mrs.  Jane 
Blaisdell  ejaculated:  — 

"There,  I  told  you  so!  I  knew  something  was  wrong. 
And  now  he'll  come  back  and  claim  the  money.  You 
see  if  he  don't!  And  if  we've  gone  and  spent  any  of 
it  —  'A  gesture  of  despair  finished  her  sentence. 

"Give  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  that  score,  madam," 
the  lawyer  assured  her  gravely.  "I  think  I  can  safely 
guarantee  he  will  not  do  that." 

"Then  you  think  he  's  —  dead?" 

"I  did  not  say  that,  madam.  I  said  I  was  very  sure 
he  would  not  come  back  and  claim  this  money  that  is 
to  be  paid  over  to  your  husband  and  his  brother  and 
sister.  Dead  or  alive,  he  has  no  further  power  over 
that  money  now." 

"Oh-h!"  breathed  Mellicent.  "Then  it  is  —  ours!" 

"It  is  yours,"  bowed  the  lawyer. 

"But  Mr.  Smith  says  we've  probably  got  to  pay 
a  tax  on  it,"  thrust  in  Mrs.  Jane,  in  a  worried  voice. 
"Do  you  know  how  much  we'll  have  to  pay?  And 
is  n't  there  any  way  we  can  save  doing  that?" 

Before  Mr.  Norton  could  answer,  a  heavy  step  down 
the  hall  heralded  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell's  advance,  and 
in  the  ensuing  confusion  of  his  arrival,  Mr.  Smith 
slipped  away.  As  he  passed  the  lawyer,  however, 
Mellicent  thought  she  heard  him  mutter,  "You  ras 
cal!"  But  afterwards  she  concluded  she  must  have 
been  mistaken,  for  the  two  men  appeared  to  become 
at  once  the  best  of  friends.  Mr.  Norton  remained 
in  town  several  days,  and  frequently  she  saw  him  and 

124 


SANTA  CLAUS  ARRIVES 

Mr.  Smith  chatting  pleasantly  together,  or  starting 
off  apparently  for  a  walk.  Mellicent  was  very  sure, 
therefore,  that  she  must  have  been  mistaken  in  think 
ing  she  had  heard  Mr.  Smith  utter  so  remarkable  an 
exclamation  as  he  left  the  room  that  first  day. 
>  During  the  stay  of  Mr.  Norton  in  Hillerton,  and  for 
some  days  afterward,  the  Blaisdells  were  too  absorbed 
in  the  mere  details  of  acquiring  and  temporarily 
investing  their  wealth  to  pay  attention  to  anything 
else.  Under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Norton,  Mr.  Rob 
ert  Chalmers,  and  the  heads  of  two  other  Hillerton 
banks,  the  three  legatees  set  themselves  to  the  task  of 
"finding  a  place  to  put  it,"  as  Miss  Flora  breathlessly 
termed  it. 

Mrs.  Hattie  said  that,  for  her  part,  she  should  like 
to  leave  their  share  all  in  the  bank:  then  she'd  have 
it  to  spend  whenever  she  wanted  it.  She  yielded  to 
the  shocked  protestations  of  the  others,  however,  and 
finally  consented  that  her  husband  should  invest  a 
large  part  of  it  in  the  bonds  he  so  wanted,  leaving  a 
generous  sum  in  the  bank  in  her  own  name.  She  was 
assured  that  the  bonds  were  just  as  good  as  money, 
anyway,  as  they  were  the  kind  that  were  readily  con 
vertible  into  cash. 

Mrs.  Jane,  when  she  understood  the  matter,  was 
for  investing  every  cent  of  theirs  where  it  would  draw 
the  largest  interest  possible.  Mrs.  Jane  had  never  be 
fore  known  very  much  about  interest,  and  she  was  fas 
cinated  with  its  delightful  possibilities.  She  spent  whole 
days  joyfully  figuring  percentages,  and  was  awakened 
from  her  happy  absorption  only  by  the  unpleasant 
realization  that  her  husband  was  not  in  sympathy 

125 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

with  her  ideas  at  all.  He  said  that  the  money  was 
his,  not  hers,  and  that,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  was  go 
ing  to  have  his  way.  "His  way"  in  this  case  proved 
to  be  the  prompt  buying-out  of  the  competing  gro 
cery  on  the  other  corner,  and  the  establishing  of  a 
good-sized  bank  account.  The  rest  of  the  money  he 
said  Jane  might  invest  for  a  hundred  per  cent,  if  she 
wanted  to. 

Jane  was  pleased  to  this  extent,  and  asked  if  it  were 
possible  that  she  could  get  such  a  splendid  rate  as  one 
hundred  per  cent.  She  had  not  figured  on  that!  She 
was  not  so  pleased  later,  when  Mr.  Norton  and  the 
bankers  told  her  what  she  could  get — with  safety; 
and  she  was  very  angry  because  they  finally  appealed 
to  her  husband  and  she  was  obliged  to  content  herself 
with  a  paltry  five  or  six  per  cent,  when  there  were  such 
lovely  mining  stocks  and  oil  wells  everywhere  that 
would  pay  so  much  more. 

She  told  Flora  that  she  ought  to  thank  her  stars 
that  she  had  the  money  herself  in  her  own  name,  to 
do  just  as  she  pleased  with,  without  any  old-fogy  men 
bossing  her. 

But  Flora  only  shivered  and  said  "Mercy  me!"  and 
that,  for  her  part,  she  wished  she  did  n't  have  to  say 
what  to  do  with  it.  She  was  scared  of  her  life  of  it, 
anyway,  and  she  was  just  sure  she  should  lose  it,  what 
ever  she  did  with  it;  and  she  'most  wished  she  did- n't 
have  it,  only  it  would  be  nice,  of  course,  to  buy  things 
with  it  —  and  she  supposed  she  would  buy  things 
with  it,  after  a  while,  when  she  got  used  to  it,  and  was 
not  afraid  to  spend  it. 

Miss  Flora  was,  indeed,  quite  breathless  most  of  the 

126 


SANTA  GLAUS  ARRIVES 

time,  these  days.  She  tried  very  hard  to  give  the  kind 
gentlemen  who  were  helping  her  no  trouble,  and  she 
showed  herself  eager  always  to  take  their  advice. 
But  she  wished  they  would  not  ask  her  opinion;  she 
was  always  afraid  to  give  it,  and  she  did  n't  have  one, 
anyway;  only  she  did  worry,  of  course,  and  she  had 
to  ask  them  sometimes  if  they  were  real  sure  the 
places  they  had  put  her  money  were  perfectly  safe, 
and  just  could  n't  blow  up.  It  was  so  comforting  al 
ways  to  see  them  smile,  and  hear  them  say:  "Per 
fectly,  my  dear  Miss  Flora,  perfectly!  Give  yourself 
no  uneasiness."  To  be  sure,  one  day,  the  big  fat  man, 
not  Mr.  Chalmers,  did  snap  out:  "No,  madam;  only 
the  Lord  Almighty  can  guarantee  a  government  bond 
—  the  whole  country  may  be  blown  to  atoms  by  a 
volcano  to-morrow  morning! " 

She  was  startled,  terribly  startled;  but  she  saw  at 
once,  of  course,  that  it  must  be  just  his  way  of  joking, 
for  of  course  there  was  n't  any  volcano  big  enough  to 
blow  up  the  whole  United  States;  and,  anyway,  she 
did  not  think  it  was  nice  of  him,  and  it  was  almost 
like  swearing,  to  say  "the  Lord  Almighty"  in  that 
tone  of  voice.  She  never  liked  that  fat  man  again. 
After  that  she  always  talked  to  Mr.  Chalmers,  or  to 
the  other  man  with  a  wart  on  his  nose. 

Miss  Flora  had  never  had  a  check-book  before,  but 
she  tried  very  hard  to  learn  how  to  use  it,  and  to  show 
herself  not  too  stupid.  She  was  glad  there  were  such 
a  lot  of  checks  in  the  book,  but  she  did  n't  believe 
she'd  ever  spend  them  all — such  a  lot  of  money! 
She  had  had  a  savings-bank  book,  to  be  sure,  but  she 
had  not  been  able  to  put  anything  in  the  bank  for  a 

127 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

long  time,  and  she  had  been  worrying  a  good  deal  lately 
for  fear  she  would  have  to  draw  some  out,  business  had 
been  so  dull.  But  she  would  not  have  to  do  that  now, 
of  course,  with  all  this  money  that  had  come  to  her.  4 

They  told  her  that  she  could  have  all  the  money 
she  wanted  by  just  filling  out  one  of  the  little  slips  in 
her  check-book  the  way  they  had  told  her  to  do  it, 
and  taking  it  to  Mr.  Chalmers's  bank  —  that  there 
were  a  good  many  thousand  dollars  there  waiting  for 
her  to  spend,  just  as  she  liked;  and  that,  when  they 
were  gone,  Mr.  Chalmers  would  tell  her  how  to  sell 
some  of  her  bonds  and  get  more.  It  seemed  very 
wonderful ! 

There  were  other  things,  too,  that  they  had  told 
her  —  too  many  for  her  to  remember  —  something 
about  interest,  and  things  called  coupons  that  must 
be  cut  off  the  bonds  at  certain  times.  She  tried  to 
remember  it  all;  but  Mr.  Chalmers  had  been  very  kind 
and  had  told  her  not  to  fret.  He  would  help  her  when 
the  time  came.  Meanwhile,  he  had  rented  her  a  nice 
tin  box  (that  pulled  out  like  a  drawer)  in  the  safety- 
deposit  vault  under  the  bank,  where  she  could  keep 
her  bonds  and  all  the  other  papers  —  such  a  lot  of 
them !  —  that  Mr.  Chalmers  told  her  she  must  keep 
very  carefully. 

But  it  was  all  so  new  and  complicated,  and  every 
body  was  always  talking  at  once,  so! 

No  wonder,  indeed,  that  Miss  Flora  was  quite 
breathless  with  it  all. 

By  the  time  the  Blaisdells  found  themselves  able 
to  pay  attention  to  Hillerton,  or  to  anything  outside 
their  own  astounding  personal  affairs,  they  became 

128 


SANTA  GLAUS  ARRIVES 

suddenly  aware  of  the  attention  Hillerton  was  paying 
to  them. 

The  whole  town  was  agog.  The  grocery  store,  the 
residence  of  Frank  Blaisdell,  and  Miss  Flora's  humble 
cottage  might  be  found  at  nearly  any  daylight  hour 
with  from  one  to  a  dozen  curious-eyed  gazers  on  the 
sidewalk  before  them.  The  town  paper  had  contained 
an  elaborate  account  of  the  bequest  and  the  remark 
able  circumstances  attending  it;  and  Hillerton  became 
the  Mecca  of  wandering  automobiles  for  miles  around. 
Big  metropolitan  dailies  got  wind  of  the  affair,  recog 
nized  the  magic  name  of  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  and  sent 
reporters  post-haste  to  Hillerton. 

Speculation  as  to  whether  the  multi-millionaire  was 
really  dead  was  prevalent  everywhere,  and  a  search 
for  some  clue  to  his  reported  South  American  explor 
ing  expedition  was  undertaken  in  several  quarters. 
Various  rumors  concerning  the  expedition  appeared 
immediately,  but  none  of  them  seemed  to  have  any 
really  solid  foundation.  Interviews  with  the  great 
law  firm  having  the  handling  of  Mr.  Fulton's  affairs 
were  printed,  but  even  here  little  could  be  learned  save 
the  mere  fact  of  the  letter  of  instructions,  upon  which 
they  had  acted  according  to  directions,  and  the  other 
fact  that  there  still  remained  one  more  packet  — 
understood  to  be  the  last  will  and  testament  —  to  be 
opened  in  two  years'  time  if  Mr.  Fulton  remained  un 
heard  from.  The  lawyers  were  bland  and  courteous, 
but  they  really  had  nothing  to  say,  they  declared, 
beyond  the  already  published  facts. 

In  Hillerton  the  Blaisdells  accepted  this  notoriety 
with  characteristic  variation.  Miss  Flora,  after  cor- 

129 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

dially  welcoming  one  "nice  young  man,"  and  telling 
him  all  about  how  strange  and  wonderful  it  was,  and 
how  frightened  she  felt,  was  so  shocked  and  distressed 
to  find  all  that  she  said  (and  a  great  deal  that  she  did 
not  say!)  staring  at  her  from  the  first  page  of  a  big 
newspaper,  that  she  forthwith  barred  her  doors,  and 
refused  to  open  them  till  she  satisfied  herself,  by  sur 
reptitious  peeps  through  the  blinds,  that  it  was  only 
a  neighbor  who  was  knocking  for  admittance.  An 
offer  of  marriage  from  a  Western  ranchman  and  an 
other  from  a  Vermont  farmer  (both  entire  strangers) 
did  not  tend  to  lessen  her  perturbation  of  mind. 

Frank,  at  the  grocery  store,  rather  welcomed  ques 
tioners  —  so  long  as  there  was  a  hope  of  turning 
them  into  customers;  but  his  wife  and  Mellicent 
showed  almost  as  much  terror  of  them  as  did  Miss 
Flora  herself. 

James  Blaisdell  and  Fred  stoically  endured  such 
as  refused  to  be  silenced  by  their  brusque  non-com- 
mittalism.  Benny,  at  first  welcoming  everything  with 
the  enthusiasm  he  would  accord  to  a  circus,  soon 
sniffed  his  disdain  as  at  a  show  that  had  gone  stale. 

Of  them  all,  perhaps  Mrs.  Hattie  was  the  only  one 
that  found  in  it  any  real  joy  and  comfort.  Even  Bessie, 
excited  and  interested  as  she  was,  failed  to  respond 
with  quite  the  enthusiasm  that  her  mother  showed. 
Mrs.  Hattie  saw  every  reporter,  talked  freely  of  "dear 
Cousin  Stanley  "  and  his  wonderful  generosity,  and 
explained  that  she  would  go  into  mourning,  of  course, 
if  she  knew  he  was  really  dead.  She  sat  for  two  new 
portraits  for  newspaper  use,  besides  graciously  posing 
for  staff  photographers  whenever  requested  to  do  so; 

130 


SANTA  GLAUS  ARRIVES 

and  she  treasured  carefully  every  scrap  of  the  printed 
interviews  or  references  to  the  affair  that  she  could 
find.  She  talked  with  the  townspeople,  also,  and  told 
Mr.  Smith  how  fine  it  was  that  he  could  have  some 
thing  really  worth  while  for  his  book. 

Mr.  Smith,  these  days,  was  keeping  rather  closely 
to  his  work,  especially  when  reporters  were  in  evi 
dence.  He  had  been  heard  to  remark,  indeed,  that 
he  had  no  use  for  reporters.  Certainly  he  fought  shy 
of  those  investigating  the  Fulton-Blaisdell  legacy. 
He  read  the  newspaper  accounts,  though,  most  atten 
tively,  particularly  the  ones  from  Chicago  that  Mr. 
Norton  kindly  sent  him  sometimes.  It  was  in  one  of 
these  papers  that  he  found  this  paragraph:  — 

There  seems  to  be  really  nothing  more  that  can  be  learned 
about  the  extraordinary  Stanley  G.  Fulton-Blaisdell  affair. 
The  bequests  have  been  paid,  the  Blaisdells  are  reveling  in 
their  new  wealth,  and  Mr.  Fulton  is  still  unheard  from. 
There  is  nothing  now  to  do  but  to  await  the  opening  of 
the  second  mysterious  packet  two  years  hence.  This,  it  is 
understood,  is  the  final  disposition  of  his  estate;  and  if  he 
is  really  dead,  such  will  doubtless  prove  to  be  the  case. 
There  are  those,  however,  who,  remembering  the  multi-mil 
lionaire's  well-known  eccentricities,  are  suspecting  him  of 
living  in  quiet  retirement  somewhere,  laughing  in  his  sleeve 
at  the  tempest  in  the  teapot  that  he  has  created;  and  that 
long  before  the  two  years  are  up,  he  will  be  back  on  Chi 
cago's  streets,  debonair  and  smiling  as  ever.  The  fact  that 
so  little  can  be  found  in  regard  to  the  South  American  ex 
ploring  expedition  might  give  color  to  this  suspicion;  but 
where,  oh,  where,  on  this  terrestrial  ball  could  Mr.  Stanley 
G.  Fulton  find  a  place  to  live  in  unreported  retirement? 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  show  this  paragraph  to  the 
Blaisdells.  He  destroyed  the  paper  containing  it,  in- 

131 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

deed,  promptly  and  effectually  —  with  a  furtive  glance 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  did  so.  It  was  at  about  this 
time,  too,  that  Mr.  Smith  began  to  complain  of  his 
eyes  and  to  wear  smoked  glasses.  He  said  he  found 
the  new  snow  glaring. 

"But  you  look  so  funny,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Benny, 
the  first  time  he  saw  him.  "Why,  I  didn't  hardly 
know  you!" 

"Did  n't  you,  Benny?"  asked  Mr.  Smith,  with  sud 
denly  a  beaming  countenance.  "Oh,  well,  that  does  n't 
matter,  does  it?"  And  Mr.  Smith  gave  an  odd  little 
chuckle  as  he  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   TOYS   RATTLE   OUT 

EARLY  in  December  Mrs.  Hattie,  after  an  extended 
search,  found  a  satisfactory  home.  It  was  a  somewhat 
pretentious  house,  not  far  from  the  Gaylord  place. 
Mrs.  Hattie  had  it  repapered  and  repainted  through 
out,  and  two  new  'bathrooms  put  in.  (She  said  that 
everybody  who  was  anybody  always  had  lots  of  bath 
rooms.)  Then  she  set  herself  to  furnishing  it.  She  said 
that,  of  course,  very  little  of  their  old  furniture  would 
do  at  all.  She  was  talking  to  Maggie  Duff  about  it 
one  day  when  Mr.  Smith  chanced  to  come  in.  She  was 
radiant  that  afternoon  in  a  handsome  silk  dress  and  a 
new  fur  coat. 

"You're  looking  very  well — and  happy,  Mrs. 
Blaisdell,"  smiled  Mr.  Smith  as  he  greeted  her. 

"I  am  well,  and  I'm  perfectly  happy,  Mr.  Smith," 
she  beamed.  "How  could  I  help  it?  You  know  about 
the  new  home,  of  course.  Well,  it's  all  ready,  and 
I'm  ordering  the  furnishings.  Oh,  you  don't  know 
what  it  means  to  me  to  be  able  at  last  to  surround 
myself  with  all  the  beautiful  things  I  've  so  longed  for 
all  my  life!" 

"I'm  very  glad,  I'm  sure."  Mr.  Smith  said  the 
words  as  if  he  meant  them. 

"Yes,  of  course;  and  poor  Maggie  here,  she  says 
she 's  glad,  too,  —  though  I  don't  see  how  she  can 
be,  when  she  never  got  a  cent,  do  you,  Mr.  Smith? 

133 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

But,  poor  Maggie,  she's  got  so  used  to  being  left 
out  —  " 

"Hush,  hush!"  begged  Miss  Maggie. 

"You'll  find  money  is  n't  everything  in  this  world, 
Hattie  Blaisdell,"  growled  Mr.  Duff,  who,  to-day,  for 
some  unknown  reason,  had  deserted  the  kitchen  cook- 
stove  for  the  living-room  base-burner.  "And  when  I 
see  what  a  little  money  does  for  some  folks  I  'm  glad 
I'm  poor.  I  wouldn't  be  rich  if  I  could.  Further 
more,  I  '11  thank  you  to  keep  your  sympathy  at  home. 
It  ain't  needed  nor  wanted  —  here." 

"Why,  Father  Duff,"  bridled  Mrs.  Hattie  indig 
nantly,  "you  know  how  poor  Maggie  has  had  to  — 

"Er  —  but  tell  us  about  the  new  home,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Smith  quickly,  "and  the  fine  new  furnishings." 

"Why,  there  is  n't  much  to  tell  yet  —  about  the 
furnishings,  I  mean.  I  have  n't  got  them  yet.  But  I 
can  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  have."  Mrs.  Hattie 
settled  herself  more  comfortably,  and  began  to  look 
happy  again.  "As  I  was  saying  to  Maggie,  when  you 
came  in,  I  shall  get  almost  everything  new  —  for  the 
rooms  that  show,  I  mean,  —  for,  of  course,  my  old 
things  won't  do  at  all.  And  I'm  thinking  of  the  pic 
tures.  I  want  oil  paintings,  of  course,  in  gilt  frames." 
She  glanced  a  little  disdainfully  at  the  oak-framed 
prints  on  Miss  Maggie's  walls. 

"  Going  in  for  old  masters,  maybe,"  suggested  Mr. 
Duff,  with  a  sarcasm  that  fell  pointless  at  Mrs. 
Hattie's  feet. 

"Old  masters?" 

"Yes —  oil  paintings." 

"Certainly  not."  Her  chin  came  up  a  little.  "I'm 

134 


THE  TOYS  RATTLE  OUT 

not  going  to  have  anything  old  in  my  house  —  where 
it  can  be  seen.  For  once  I  'm  going  to  have  new  things 
—  all  new  things.  You  have  to  make  a  show  or  you 
won't  be  recognized  by  the  best  people." 

"But,  Hattie,  my  dear,"  began  Miss  Maggie,  flush 
ing  a  little,  and  carefully  avoiding  Mr.  Smith's  eyes, 
"old  masters  are —  are  very  valuable,  and  —  " 

"I  don't  care  if  they  are,"  retorted  Mrs.  Hattie, 
with  decision.  "If  they're  old,  I  don't  want  them,  and 
that  settles  it.  I'm  going  to  have  velvet  carpets 
and  the  handsomest  lace  curtains  that  I  can  find;  and 
I  'm  going  to  have  some  of  those  gold  chairs,  like  the 
Pennocks  have,  only  nicer.  Theirs  are  awfully  dull, 
some  of  them.  And  I  'm  going  to  buy  —  " 

"Humph!  Pity  you  can't  buy  a  little  common 
sense — somewhere!"  snarled  old  man  Duff,  getting 
stiffly  to  his  feet.  "You'll  need  it,  to  swing  all  that 
style." 

"Oh,  father!"  murmured  Miss  Maggie. 
"Oh,  I  don't  mind  what  Father  Duff  says,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Hattie.  But  there  was  a  haughty  tilt  to  her  chin 
and  an  angry  sparkle  in  her  eyes  as  she,  too,  arose. 
"I'm  just  going,  anyway,  so  you  don't  need  to  dis 
turb  yourself,  Father  Duff." 

But  Father  Duff,  with  another  "Humph!"  and  a 
muttered  something  about  having  all  he  wanted  al 
ready  of  "silly  chatter,"  stamped  out  into  the  kitchen, 
with  the  usual  emphasis  of  his  cane  at  every  other 
step. 

It  was  just  as  well,  perhaps,  that  he  went,  for  Mrs. 
Hattie  Blaisdell  had  been  gone  barely  five  minutes 
when  her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Jane,  came  in. 

135 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I've  come  to  see  you  about  a  very  important 
matter,  Maggie,"  she  announced,  as  she  threw  off  her 
furs  —  not  new  ones  —  and  unbuttoned  her  coat  — 
which  also  was  not  new. 

"Then  certainly  I  will  take  myself  out  of  the  way," 
said  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  smile,  making  a  move  to  go. 

"No,  please  don't."  Mrs.  Jane  held  up  a  detaining 
hand.  "Part  of  it  concerns  you,  and  I'm  glad  you're 
here,  anyway.  I  should  like  your  advice." 

"Concerns  me?"  puzzled  the  man. 

"Yes.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  give  up  boarding 
you,  and  one  thing  I  came  to-day  for  was  to  ask 
Maggie  if  she'd  take  you.  I  wanted  to  give  poor 
Maggie  the  first  chance  at  you,  of  course." 

"Chance  at  me!"  Mr.  Smith  laughed, —  but  un 
mistakably  he  blushed.  "The  first—  But,  my  dear 
woman,  it  is  just  possible  that  Miss  Maggie  may  wish 
to  —  er  —  decline  this  great  honor  which  is  being 
conferred  upon  her,  and  she  may  hesitate,  for  the  sake 
of  my  feelings,  to  do  it  before  me.  Now  I'm  very 
sure  I  ought  to  have  left  at  once." 

"Nonsense!"  (Was  Miss  Maggie  blushing  the  least 
bit,  too?)  "I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  Mr.  Smith  as 
a  boarder  if  he  wants  to  come —  but  he's  got  some 
thing  to  say  about  it,  remember.  But  tell  me,  why 
are  you  letting  him  go,  Jane?  " 

"Now  this  surely  will  be  embarrassing,"  laughed 
Mr.  Smith  again  nervously.  "Do  I  eat  too  much,  or 
am  I  merely  noisy,  and  a  nuisance  generally?" 

But  Mrs.  Jane  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  him. 
She  was  looking  at  Miss  Maggie,  her  eyes  somber, 
intent. 


THE  TOYS  RATTLE  OUT 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  It's  Hattie." 

"Hattie!"  exclaimed  two  amazed  voices. 

"Yes.  She  says  it's  perfectly  absurd  for  me  to  take 
boarders,  with  all  our  money;  and  she's  making  a  ter 
rible  fuss  about  where  we  live.  She  says  she 's  ashamed 
—  positively  ashamed  of  us  —  that  we  have  n't  moved 
into  a  decent  place  yet." 

Miss  Maggie's  lips  puckered  a  little. 

"Do  you  want  to  go?" 

;'Y-yes,  only  it  will  cost  so  much.  I've  always 
wanted  a  house —  with  a  yard,  I  mean;  and  't  would 
be  nice  for  Mellicent,  of  course." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go?  You  have  the  money." 

"Y-yes,  I  know  I  have;  but  it  '11  cost  so  much, 
Maggie.  Don't  you  see?  It  costs  not  only  the  money 
itself,  but  all  the  interest  that  the  money  could  be 
earning.  Why,  Maggie,  I  never  saw  anything  like  it." 
Her  face  grew  suddenly  alert  and  happy.  "I  never 
knew  before  how  much  money,  just  money,  could  earn, 
while  you  did  n't  have  to  do  a  thing  but  sit  back  and 
watch  it  do  it.  It's  the  most  fascinating  thing  I  ever 
saw.  I  counted  up  the  other  day  how  much  we  'd  have 
if  we  did  n't  spend  a  cent  of  it  for  ten  years  —  the 
legacy,  I  mean." 

"But,  great  Scott,  madam!"  expostulated  Mr. 
Smith.  "Are  n't  you  going  to  spend  any  of  that  money 
before  ten  years'  time?  " 

Mrs.  Jane  fell  back  in  her  chair.  The  anxious  frown 
came  again  to  her  face. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.  We  have  spent  a  lot  of  it, 
already.  Frank  has  bought  out  that  horrid  grocery 
across  the  street,  and  he's  put  a  lot  in  the  bank,  and 

137 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

he  spends  from  that  every  day,  I  know.  And  I'm 
willing  to  spend  some,  of  course.  But  we  had  to  pay 
so  much  inheritance  tax  and  all  that  it  would  be  my 
way  not  to  spend  much  till  the  interest  had  sort  of 
made  that  up,  you  know;  but  Frank  and  Mellicent  — 
they  won't  hear  to  it  a  minute.  They  want  to  move,  too, 
and  they  're  teasing  me  all  the  time  to  get  new  clothes, 
both  for  me  and  for  her.  But  Hattie's  the  worst.  I 
can't  do  a  thing  with  Hattie.  Now  what  shall  I  do?" 

"I  should  move.  You  say  yourself  you'd  like  to," 
answered  Miss  Maggie  promptly. 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Smith?'* 

Mr.  Smith  leaped  to  his  feet  and  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  as  he  took  a  nervous  turn  about  the 
room,  before  he  spoke. 

"Good  Heavens,  woman,  that  money  was  given 
you  to  —  that  is,  it  was  probably  given  you  to  use. 
Now,  why  don't  you  use  it?" 

"But  I  am  using  it,"  argued  Mrs.  Jane  earnestly. 
"I  think  I'm  making  the  very  best  possible  use  of  it 
when  I  put  it  where  it  will  earn  more.  Don't  you  see? 
Besides,  what  does  the  Bible  say  about  that  man  with 
one  talent  that  did  n't  make  it  earn  more? " 

With  a  jerk  Mr.  Smith  turned  on  his  heel  and  re 
newed  his  march. 

"I  think  the  only  thing  money  is  good  for  is  to 
exchange  it  for  something  you  want,"  observed  Miss 
Maggie  sententiously. 

"There,  that's  it!"  triumphed  Mr.  Smith,  wheel 
ing  about.  "That's  exactly  it!" 

Mrs.  Jane  sighed  and  shook  her  head.  She  gazed 
at  Miss  Maggie  with  fondly  reproving  eyes. 

138 


THE  TOYS  RATTLE  OUT 

"Yes,  we  all  know  your  ideas  of  money,  Maggie. 
You're  very  sweet  and  dear,  and  we  love  you;  but 
you  are  extravagant." 

"Extravagant!"  demurred  Miss  Maggie. 

"Yes.  You  use  everything  you  have  every  day; 
and  you  never  protect  a  thing.  Actually,  I  don't 
believe  there's  a  tidy  or  a  linen  slip  in  this  house." 
(Did  Mr.  Smith  breathe  a  fervent  "Thank  the  Lord!" 
Miss  Maggie  wondered.)  "And  that  brings  me  right 
up  to  something  else  I  was  going  to  say.  I  want  you 
to  know  that  I  'm  going  to  help  you." 

Miss  Maggie  looked  distressed  and  raised  a  pro 
testing  hand;  but  Mrs.  Jane  smilingly  shook  her  head 
and  went  on. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  always  said  I  should,  if  I  had  money, 
and  I  shall  —  though  I  must  confess  that  I  'd  have  a 
good  deal  more  heart  to  do  it  if  you  were  n't  quite  so 
extravagant.  I've  already  given  you  Mr.  Smith  to 
board." 

"Oh,  I  say!"  spluttered  Mr.  Smith. 

But  again  she  only  smilingly  shook  her  head  and 
continued  speaking. 

"And  if  we  move,  I'm  going  to  give  you  the  parlor 
carpet,  and  some  rugs  to  protect  it." 

"Thank  you;  but,  really,  I  don't  want  the  parlor 
carpet,"  refused  Miss  Maggie,  a  tiny  smouldering  fire 
in  her  eyes. 

"And  I  shall  give  you  some  money,  too,"  smiled 
Mrs.  Jane,  very  graciously,  —  "when  the  interest  be 
gins  to  come  in,  you  know.  I  shall  give  you  some  of 
that.  It's  too  bad  you  should  have  nothing  while  I 
have  so  much." 

139 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Jane,  please!"  The  smouldering  fire  in  Miss 
Maggie's  eyes  had  become  a  flame  now. 

"Nonsense,  Maggie,  you  must  n't  be  so  proud. 
It's  no  shame  to  be  poor.  Wasn't  I  poor  just  the 
other  day?  However,  since  it  distresses  you  so,  we 
won't  say  any  more  about  it  now.  I  '11  go  back  to  my 
own  problems.  Then,  you  advise  me  —  you  both 
advise  me  —  to  move,  do  you?" 

"I  do,  most  certainly,"  bowed  Miss  Maggie,  still 
with  a  trace  of  constraint. 

"And  you,  Mr.  Smith?" 

Mr.  Smith  turned  and  threw  up  both  his  hands. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  lady,  go  home,  and  spend  — 
some  of  that  money!" 

Mrs.  Jane  laughed  a  bit  ruefully. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  but  what  I  shall  have  to,  with 
everybody  against  me  like  this,"  she  sighed,  getting 
slowly  to  her  feet.  "  But  if  you  knew  —  if  either  of  you 
knew  —  how  really  valuable  money  is,  and  how  much  it 
would  earn  for  you,  if  you  'd  only  let  it,  I  don't  believe 
you  'd  be  quite  so  fast  to  tell  me  to  go  and  spend  it." 

"Perhaps  not;  but  then,  you  see,  we  don't  know," 
smiled  Miss  Maggie,  once  again  her  cheery  self. 

Mr.  Smith  said  nothing.  Mr.  Smith  had  turned  his 
back  just  then. 

When  Mrs.  Jane  was  gone,  Mr.  Smith  faced  Miss 
Maggie  with  a  quizzical  smile. 

"Well?  "he  hazarded. 

" You  mean— " 

"I'm  awaiting  orders  —  as  your  new  boarder." 

"Oh!  They'll  not  be  alarming,  I  assure  you.  Do 
you  really  want  to  come?" 

140 


THE  TOYS  RATTLE  OUT 

"Indeed  I  do!  And  I  think  it's  mighty  good  of 
you  to  take  me.  But  —  should  you,  do  you  think? 
Have  n't  you  got  enough,  with  your  father  to  care  for? 
Won't  it  be  too  hard  for  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  think  not.  Besides,  I'm  going  to  have  help. 
Annabelle  and  Florence  Martin,  a  farmer's  daugh 
ters,  are  very  anxious  to  be  in  town  to  attend  school 
this  winter,  and  I  have  said  that  I  would  take  them. 
They  will  work  for  their  board." 

The  man  gave  a  disdainful  sniff. 

"I  can  imagine  how  much  work  you'll  let  them  do! 
It  strikes  me  the  'help'  is  on  the  other  foot.  However, 
we'll  let  that  pass.  I  shall  be  glad  enough  to  come, 
and  I'll  stay  —  unless  I  find  you  're  doing  too  much 
and  going  beyond  your  strength.  But,  how  about  — 
your  father?  " 

"Oh,  he  won't  mind.  I'll  arrange  that  he  proposes 
the  idea  himself.  Besides,"  -  she  twinkled  merrily  — 
"you  really  get  along  wonderfully  with  father,  you 
know.  And,  as  for  the  work  —  I  shall  have  more 
time  now:  Hattie  will  have  some  one  else  to  care  for 
her  headaches,  and  Jane  won't  put  down  any  more 
carpets,  I  fancy,  for  a  while." 

"Well,  I  should  hope!"  he  shrugged.  "Honestly, 
Miss  Maggie,  one  of  the  best  things  about  this  Blais- 
dell  money,  in  my  eyes,  is  that  it  may  give  you  a  little 
rest  from  being  chief  cook  and  bottle  washer  and  head 
nurse  combined,  on  tap  for  any  minute.  But,  say, 
that  woman  will  spend  some  of  that  money,  won't 
she?" 

Miss  Maggie  smiled  significantly. 

141 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I  think  she  will.  I  saw  Frank  last  evening  — 
though  I  did  n't  think  it  necessary  to  say  so  to  her. 
He  came  to  see  me.  I  think  you'll  find  that  they 
move  very  soon,  and  that  the  ladies  of  the  family  have 
some  new  clothes." 

"Well,  I  hope  so.'5 

"You  seem  concerned." 

"Concerned?  Er —  ah  —  well,  I  am,"  he  asserted 
stoutly.  "Such  a  windfall  of  wealth  ought  to  bring 
happiness,  I  think;  and  it  seemed  to,  to  Mrs.  Hattie, 
though,  of  course,  she  '11  learn  better,  as  time  goes  on, 
how  to  spend  her  money.  But  Mrs.  Jane  —  And, 
by  the  way,  how  is  Miss  Flora  bearing  up  —  under 
the  burden?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed. 

"Poor  Flora!" 

"'Poor  Flora'!  And  do  I  hear  'Poor  Maggie'  say 
'Poor  Flora'?" 

"Oh,  she  won't  be  'poor'  long,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie. 
"She'll  get  used  to  it —  this  stupendous  sum  of  money 
—  one  of  these  days.  But  just  now  she 's  nearly  fright 
ened  to  death." 

"Frightened!" 

"Yes — both  because  she's  got  it,  and  because 
she's  afraid  she'll  lose  it.  That  does  n't  sound  logical, 
I  know,  but  Flora  is  n't  being  logical  just  now.  To 
begin  with,  she  has  n't  the  least  idea  how  to  spend 
money.  Under  my  careful  guidance,  however,  she 
has  bought  her  a  few  new  dresses —  though  they're 
dead  black  —  " 

"Black!"  interrupted  the  man. 

"Yes,  she's  put  on  mourning,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie, 

142 


THE  TOYS  RATTLE  OUT 

as  he  came  to  a  dismayed  stop.  "She  would  do  it. 
She  declared  she  would  n't  feel  half  decent  unless  she 
did,  with  that  poor  man  dead,  and  giving  her  all  that 
money." 

"But  he  is  n't  dead  —  that  is,  they  are  n't  sure  he's 
dead,"  amended  Mr.  Smith  hastily. 

"But  Flora  thinks  he  is.  She  says  he  must  be,  or  he 
would  have  appeared  in  time  to  save  all  that  money. 
She's  very  much  shocked,  especially  at  Hattie,  that 
there  is  so  little  respect  being  shown  his  memory.  So 
she  is  all  the  more  determined  to  do  the  best  she  can 
on  her  part." 

"But  she —  she  did  n't  know  him,  so  she  can't —  er 
—  really  mourn  for  him,"  stammered  the  man.  There 
was  a  most  curious  helplessness  on  Mr.  Smith's  face. 

"No,  she  says  she  can't  really  mourn,"  smiled  Miss 
Maggie  again,  "and  that's  what  worries  her  the  most 
of  anything —  because  she  can't  mourn,  and  when  he's 
been  so  good  to  her  —  and  he  with  neither  wife  nor 
chick  nor  child  to  mourn  for  him,  she  says.  But  she 's 
determined  to  go  through  the  outward  form  of  it,  at 
least.  So  she's  made  herself  some  new  black  dresses, 
and  she's  bought  a  veil.  She's  taken  Mr.  Fulton's 
picture  (she  had  one  cut  from  a  magazine,  I  believe), 
and  has  had  it  framed  and/  hung  on  her  wall.  On  the 
mantel  beneath  it  she  keeps  fresh  flowers  always.  She 
says  it's  the  nearest  she  can  come  to  putting  flowers 
on  his  grave,  poor  man!" 

"Good  Heavens!"  breathed  Mr.  Smith,  falling 
limply  into  a  chair. 

"And  she  does  n't  go  anywhere,  except  to  church, 
and  for  necessary  errands." 

143 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"That  explains  why  I  haven't  seen  her.  I  had 
wondered  where  she  was." 

"Yes.  She's  very  conscientious.  But  she  is  going 
later  to  Niagara.  I've  persuaded  her  to  do  that. 
She'll  go  with  a  party,  of  course,  —  one  of  those  'per 
sonally  conducted'  affairs,  you  know.  Poor  dear! 
she's  so  excited!  All  her  life  she's  wanted  to  see  Ni 
agara.  Now  she's  going,  and  she  can  hardly  believe 
it 's  true.  She  wants  a  phonograph,  too,  but  she 's  de 
cided  not  to  get  that  until  after  six  months'  mourn 
ing  is  up —  it's  too  frivolous  and  jolly  for  a  house  of 
mourning." 

"Oh,  good  Heavens!"  breathed  Mr.  Smith  again. 

"It  is  funny,  isn't  it,  that  she  takes  it  quite  so 
seriously?  Bessie  suggested  (I  'm  afraid  Bessie  was 
a  little  naughty!)  that  she  get  the  phonograph,  but 
not  allow  it  to  play  anything  but  dirges  and  hymn 
tunes." 

"But  is  n't  the  woman  going  to  take  any  comfort 
with  that  money?"  demanded  Mr.  Smith. 

"Indeed,  she  is!  She's  taking  comfort  now.  You 
have  no  idea,  Mr.  Smith,  what  it  means  to  her,  to 
feel  that  she  need  never  want  again,  and  that  she  can 
buy  whatever  she  pleases,  without  thinking  of  the 
cost.  That's  why  she's  frightened —  because  she  is  so 
happy.  She  thinks  it  can't  be  right  to  be  so  happy. 
It 's  too  pleasant  —  to  be  right.  When  she  is  n't  be 
ing  frightened  about  that,  she's  being  frightened  for 
fear  she'll  lose  it,  and  thus  not  have  it  any  more.  I 
don't  think  she  quite  realizes  yet  what  a  big  sum  of 
money  it  is,  and  that  she'd  have  to  lose  a  great  deal 
before  she  lost  it  all." 

144 


THE  TOYS  RATTLE  OUT 

"Oh,  well,  she'll  get  used  to  that,  in  time.  They'll 
all  get  used  to  it  —  in  time,"  declared  Mr.  Smith,  his 
face  clearing  a  little.  "Then  they'll  begin  to  live 
sanely  and  sensibly,  and  spend  the  money  as  it  should 
be  spent.  Of  course,  you  could  n't  expect  them  to 
know  what  to  do,  at  the  very  first,  with  a  sum  like 
that  dropped  into  their  laps.  What  would  you  do 
yourself?  Yes,  what  would  you  do?"  repeated  Mr. 
Smith,  his  face  suddenly  alert  and  interested  again. 
"What  would  you  do  if  you  should  fall  heir  to  a  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  —  to-morrow?  " 

"What  would  I  do?  What  would  n't  I  do?"  laughed 
Miss  Maggie.  Then  abruptly  her  face  changed.  Her 
eyes  became  luminous,  unfathomable.  "There  is  so 
much  that  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  could  do  —  so 
much!  Why,  I  would  — "  Her  face  changed  again 
abruptly.  She  sniffed  as  at  an  odor  from  somewhere. 
Then  lightly  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  crossed  to  the 
stove.  "What  would  I  do  with  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars?"  she  demanded,  whisking  open  a  damper  in 
the  pipe.  "I'd  buy  a  new  base-burner  that  didn't 
leak  gas!  That's  what  I'd  do  with  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars.  Are  you  going  to  give  it  to  me?" 

"Eh?  Ah— what?"  Mr.  Smith  was  visibly  star 
tled. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  merrily. 

"Don't  worry.  I  was  n't  thinking  of  charging  quite 
that  for  your  board.  But  you  seemed  so  interested,  I 
did  n't  know  but  what  you  were  going  to  hand  over 
the  hundred  thousand,  just  to  see  what  I  would  do 
with  it,"  she  challenged  mischievously.  "  However,  I '11 
stop  talking  nonsense,  and  come  down  to  business. 

145 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

If  you'll  walk  this  way,  Mr.  New  Boarder,  I'll  let 
you  choose  which  of  two  rooms  you  'd  like." 

And  Mr.  Smith  went.  But,  as  had  occurred  once 
or  twice  before,  Mr.  Smith's  face,  as  he  followed  her, 
was  a  study. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   DANCING   BEGINS 

CHRISTMAS  saw  many  changes  in  the  Blaisdell  fami 
lies. 

The  James  Blaisdells  had  moved  into  the  big  house 
near  the  Gaylord  place.  Mrs.  Hattie  had  installed 
two  maids  in  the  kitchen,  bought  a  handsome  tour 
ing  car,  and  engaged  an  imposing-looking  chauffeur. 
Fred  had  entered  college,  and  Bessie  had  been  sent 
to  a  fashionable  school  on  the  Hudson.  Benny,  to  his 
disgust,  had  also  been  sent  away  to  an  expensive 
school.  Christmas,  however,  found  them  all  at  home 
for  the  holidays,  and  for  the  big  housewarming  that 
their  parents  were  planning  to  give  on  Christmas 
night. 

The  Frank  Blaisdells  had  also  moved.  They  were 
occupying  a  new  house  not  too  far  from  the  grocery 
store.  They  had  not  bought  it  yet.  Mrs.  Jane  said 
that  she  wished  to  live  in  it  awhile,  so  as  to  be  sure 
she  would  really  like  it.  Besides,  it  would  save  the 
interest  on  the  money  for  that  much  time,  anyway. 
True,  she  had  been  a  little  disturbed  when  her  hus 
band  reminded  her  that  they  would  be  paying  rent 
meanwhile.  But  she  said  that  did  n't  matter;  she  was 
not  going  to  put  all  that  money  into  a  house  just  yet, 
anyway,  —  not  till  she  was  sure  it  was  the  best  they 
could  do  for  the  price. 

They,  too,  were  planning  a  housewarming.  Theirs 

147 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

was  to  come  the  night  after  Christmas.  Mrs.  Jane 
told  her  husband  that  they  should  not  want  theirs  the 
same  night,  of  course,  as  Hattie's,  and  that  if  she  had 
hers  right  away  the  next  night,  she  could  eat  up  any  of 
the  cakes  or  ice  cream  that  was  left  from  Hattie's  party, 
and  thus  save  buying  so  much  new  for  herself.  But 
her  husband  was  so  indignant  over  the  idea  of  eating 
"Hattie's  leavings"  that  she  had  to  give  up  this 
part  of  her  plan,  though  she  still  arranged  to  have 
her  housewarming  on  the  day  following  her  sister-in- 
law's. 

Mellicent,  like  Bessie,  was  home  from  school,  though 
not  from  the  same  school.  Mrs.  Jane  had  found 
another  one  that  was  just  as  good  as  Bessie's,  she 
said,  and  which  did  not  cost  near  so  much  money.  Mr. 
Smith  was  not  living  with  them  now,  of  course.  He 
was  boarding  at  Miss  Maggie  Duff's. 

Miss  Flora  was  living  in  the  same  little  rented  cot 
tage  she  had  occupied  for  many  years.  She  said  that 
she  should  move,  of  course,  when  she  got  through  her 
mourning,  but  until  then  she  thought  it  more  suit 
able  for  her  to  stay  where  she  was.  She  had  what 
she  wanted  to  eat,  now,  however,  and  she  did  not  do 
dressmaking  any  longer.  She  still  did  her  own  house 
work,  in  spite  of  Harriet  Blaisdell's  insistence  that 
she  get  a  maid.  She  said  that  there  was  plenty  of 
time  for  all  those  things  when  she  had  finished  her 
mourning.  She  went  out  very  little,  though  she  did 
go  to  the  housewarming  at  her  brother  James's  — 
"being  a  relative,  so,"  she  decided  that  no  criticism 
could  be  made. 

It  seemed  as  if  all  Hillerton  went  to  that  house- 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

warming.  Those  who  were  not  especially  invited  to 
attend  went  as  far  as  the  street  or  the  gate,  and  looked 
on  enviously.  Mrs.  Hattie  had  been  very  generous 
with  her  invitations,  however.  She  said  that  she  had 
asked  everybody  who  ever  pretended  to  go  anywhere. 
She  told  Maggie  Duff  that,  of  course,  after  this,  she 
should  be  more  exclusive — very  exclusive,  in  fact; 
but  that  this  time  Jim  wanted  to  ask  everybody,  and 
she  did  n't  mind  so  much  —  she  was  really  rather  glad 
to  have  all  these  people  see  the  house,  and  all  —  they 
certainly  never  would  have  the  chance  again. 

Mr.  Smith  attended  with  Miss  Maggie.  Mrs.  Hat- 
tie  had  very  kindly  included  him  in  the  invitation. 
She  had  asked  Father  Duff,  too,  especially,  though  she 
said  she  knew,  of  course,  that  he  would  not  go  —  he 
never  went  anywhere.  Father  Duff  bristled  up  at  this, 
and  declared  that  he  guessed  he  would  go,  after  all, 
just  to  show  them  that  he  could,  if  he  wanted  to. 
Mrs.  Hattie  grew  actually  pale,  but  Miss  Maggie  ex 
claimed  joyfully  that,  of  course,  he  would  go  —  he 
ought  to  go,  to  show  proper  respect!  Father  Duff 
said  no  then,  very  decidedly;  that  nothing  could  hire 
him  to  go,  and  that  he  had  no  respect  to  show.  He 
declared  that  he  had  no  use  for  gossip  and  gabble  and 
unwholesome  eating;  and  he  said  that  he  should  not 
think  Maggie  would  care  to  go,  either,  —  unless  she 
could  be  in  the  kitchen,  where  it  would  seem  natural 
to  her! 

Mrs.  Hattie,  however,  smiled  kindly,  and  said,  of 
course,  now  she  could  afford  to  hire  better  help  than 
Maggie  (caterers  from  the  city  and  all  that),  so  Maggie 
would  not  have  to  be  in  the  kitchen,  and  that  with 

149 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

practice  she  would  soon  learn  not  to  mind  at  all  being 
'round  among  folks  in  the  parlor. 

Father  Duff  had  become  so  apoplectically  angry 
at  this  that  Mr.  Smith,  who  chanced  to  be  present,  and 
who  also  was  very  angry,  was  forced  to  forget  his  own 
wrath  in  his  desire  to  make  the  situation  easier  for 
Miss  Maggie. 

He  had  not  supposed  that  Miss  Maggie  would  go 
at  all,  after  that.  He  had  even  determined  not  to  go 
himself.  But  Miss  Maggie,  after  a  day's  thought,  had 
laughed  and  had  said,  with  her  eyes  twinkling:  "Oh, 
well,  it  does  n't  matter,  you  know, —  it  does  n't  really 
matter,  does  it?"  And  they  had  gone. 

It  was  a  wonderful  party.  Mr.  Smith  enjoyed  it 
hugely.  He  saw  almost  everybody  he  knew  in  Hiller- 
ton,  and  many  that  he  did  not  know.  He  heard  the 
Blaisdells  and  their  new  wealth  discussed  from  all 
viewpoints,  and  he  heard  some  things  about  the  miss 
ing  millionaire  benefactor  that  were  particularly  in 
teresting  —  to  him.  The  general  opinion  seemed  to  be 
that  the  man  was  dead;  though  a  few  admitted  that 
there  was  a  possibility,  of  course,  that  he  was  merely 
lost  somewhere  in  darkest  South  America  and  would 
eventually  get  back  to  civilization,  certainly  long  be 
fore  the  time  came  to  open  the  second  letter  of  in 
structions.  Many  professed  to  know  the  man  well, 
through  magazine  and  newspaper  accounts  (there 
were  times  when  Mr.  Smith  adjusted  more  carefully 
the  smoked  glasses  which  he  was  still  wearing) ;  and 
some  had  much  to  say  of  the  millionaire's  charac 
teristics,  habits,  and  eccentricities;  all  of  which  Mr. 
Smith  enjoyed  greatly. 

150 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

Then,  too,  there  were  the  Blaisdells  themselves. 
They  were  all  there,  even  to  Miss  Flora,  who  was  in 
dead  black;  and  Mr.  Smith  talked  with  them  all. 

Miss  Flora  told  him  that  she  was  so  happy  she  could 
not  sleep  nights,  but  that  she  was  rather  glad  she 
could  n't  sleep,  after  all,  for  she  spent  the  time  mourn 
ing  for  poor  Mr.  Fulton,  and  thinking  how  good  he 
had  been  to  her.  And  thai  made  it  seem  as  if  she  was 
doing  something  for  him.  She  said,  Yes,  oh,  yes,  she 
was  going  to  stop  black  mourning  in  six  months,  and 
go  into  grays  and  lavenders;  and  she  was  glad  Mr. 
Smith  thought  that  was  long  enough,  quite  long 
enough  for  the  black,  but  she  could  not  think  for  a 
moment  of  putting  on  colors  now,  as  he  suggested. 
She  said,  too,  that  she  had  decided  not  to  go  to  Niag 
ara  for  the  present.  And  when  he  demurred  at  this, 
she  told  him  that  really  she  would  rather  not.  It 
would  be  warmer  in  the  spring,  and  she  would  much 
rather  wait  till  she  could  enjoy  every  minute  without 
feeling  that  —  well,  that  she  was  almost  dancing  over 
the  poor  man's  grave,  as  it  were. 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  urge  her  after  that.  He  turned 
away,  indeed,  rather  precipitately  —  so  precipitately 
that  Miss  Flora  wondered  if  she  could  have  said  any 
thing  to  offend  him. 

Mr.  Smith  talked  next  with  Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell. 
Mrs.  Jane  was  looking  particularly  well  that  evening. 
Her  dress  was  new,  and  in  good  style,  yet  she  in  some 
way  looked  odd  to  Mr.  Smith.  In  a  moment  he  knew 
the  reason:  she  wore  no  apron.  Mr.  Smith  had  never 
seen  her  without  an  apron  before.  Even  on  the  street 
she  wore  a  black  silk  one.  He  complimented  her  gal- 

151 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

lantly  on  her  fine  appearance.  But  Mrs.  Jane  did  not 
smile.   She  frowned. 

"Yes,  I  know.  Thank  vou,  of  course,"  she  answered 
worriedly.  "But  it  cost  an  awful  lot —  this  dress  did; 
but  Frank  and  Mellicent  would  have  it.  That  child! 
—  have  you  seen  her  to-night?" 

"Miss  Mellicent?  Yes,  in  the  distance.  She,  too, 
is  looking  most  charming,  Mrs.  Blaisdell." 

The  woman  tapped  her  foot  impatiently. 

"Yes,  I  know  she  is —  and  some  other  folks  think 
so,  too,  I  notice.  Was  she  with  that  Pennock  boy?" 

"Not  when  I  saw  her." 

"Well,  she  will  be,  if  she  is  n't  now.  He  follows  her 
everywhere." 

"But  I  thought — that  was  broken  up."  Mr. 
Smith  now  was  frowning. 

"It  was.  You  know  what  that  woman  said — the 
insult!  But  now,  since  this  money  came  — "  She  let 
an  expressive  gesture  complete  the  sentence. 

Mr.  Smith  laughed. 

"I  wouldn't  worry,  Mrs.  Blaisdell.  I  don't  think 
he'll  make  much  headway —  now." 

"Indeed,  he  won't —  if  I  can  help  myself!"  flashed 
the  woman  indignantly. 

"I  reckon  he  won't  stand  much  show  with  Miss 
Mellicent —  after  what's  happened." 

"I  guess  he  won't,"  snapped  the  woman.  "He  is  n't 
worth  half  what  she  is  now.  As  if  I  'd  let  her  look  at 
hintl" 

"But  I  meant-  Mr.  Smith  stopped  abruptly. 
There  was  an  odd  expression  on  his  face. 

Mrs.  Blaisdell  filled  the  pause. 

152 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

"But,  really,  Mr.  Smith,  I  don't  know  what  I  am 
going  to  do  —  with  Mellicent,"  she  sighed. 

"Do  with  her?" 

"Yes.  She's  as  wild  as  a  hawk  and  as —  as  flighty 
as  a  humming-bird,  since  this  money  came.  She's  so 
crazy  with  joy  and  excited." 

"What  if  she  is?"  challenged  Mr.  Smith,  looking 
suddenly  very  happy  himself.  "  Youth  is  the  time  for 
joy  and  laughter;  and  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  she  is  taking 
a  little  pleasure  in  life." 

Mrs.  Blaisdell  frowned  again. 

"But,  Mr.  Smith,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
life  isn't  all  pink  dresses  and  sugar-plums.  It  is  a  seri 
ous  business,  and  I  have  tried  to  bring  her  up  to  un 
derstand  it.  I  have  taught  her  to  be  thrifty  and  eco 
nomical,  and  to  realize  the  value  of  a  dollar.  But 
now —  she  does  n't  see  a  dollar  but  what  she  wants 
to  spend  it.  What  can  I  do?" 

"You  aren't  sorry — the  money  came?"  Mr. 
Smith  was  eyeing  her  with  a  quizzical  smile. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  indeed!"  Mrs.  Blaisdell's  answer  was 
promptly  emphatic.  "And  I  hope  I  shall  be  found 
worthy  of  the  gift,  and  able  to  handle  it  wisely." 

"Er — ah — you  mean  —  "  Mr.  Smith  was  look 
ing  slightly  taken  aback. 

"I  mean  that  I  regard  wealth  as  one  of  the  greatest 
of  trusts,  to  be  wisely  administered,  Mr.  Smith,"  she 
amplified  a  bit  importantly. 

"Oh-h!"  subsided  the  man. 

"That  is  why  it  distresses  me  so  to  see  my  daugh 
ter  so  carried  away  with  the  mere  idea  of  spending.  I 
thought  I'd  taught  her  differently,"  sighed  the  woman. 

153 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Perhaps  you  taught  her —  too  well.  But  I  would 
n't  worry,"  smiled  Mr.  Smith,  as  he  turned  away. 

Deliberately  then  Mr.  Smith  went  in  search  of 
Mellicent.  He  found  her  in  the  music-room,  which 
had  been  cleared  for  dancing.  She  was  surrounded 
by  four  young  men.  One  held  her  fan,  one  carried 
her  white  scarf  on  his  arm,  a  third  was  handing  her 
a  glass  of  water.  The  fourth  was  ^apparently  writing 
his  name*  on  her  dance  card.  The  one  with  the  scarf 
Mr.  Smith  recognized  as  Carl  Pennock.  The  one  writ 
ing  on  the  dance  programme  he  knew  was  young 
Hibbard  Gaylord. 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  approach  at  once.  Leaning 
against  a  window-casing  near  by,  he  watched  the 
kaleidoscopic  throng,  bestowing  a  not  too  conspicu 
ous  attention  upon  the  group  about  Miss  Mellicent 
Blaisdell. 

Mellicent  was  the  picture  of  radiant  loveliness. 
The  rose  in  her  cheeks  matched  the  rose  of  her  gown, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  happiness.  So  far  as  Mr. 
Smith  could  see,  she  dispensed  her  favors  with  rare 
impartiality;  though,  as  he  came  toward  them  finally, 
h£  realized  at  once  that  there  was  a  merry  wrangle 
of  some  sort  afoot.  He  had  not  quite  reached  them 
when,  to  his  surprise,  Mellicent  turned  to  him  in  very 
evident  relief. 

"There,  here's  Mr.  Smith,"  she  cried  gayly.  "I'm 
going  to  sit  it  out  with  him.  I  shan't  dance  it  with 
either  of  you." 

"Oh,  Miss  Blaisdell!"  protested  young  Gaylord 
and  Carl  Pennock  abjectly. 

But  Mellicent  shook  her  head. 

154 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

"No.  If  you  will  both  'write  your  names  down  for 
the  same  dance,  it  is  nothing  more  than  you  ought  to 
expect." 

"But  divide  it,  then.  Please  divide  it,"  they  begged. 
"We'll  be  satisfied." 

"I  shan't  be!"  Mellicent  shook  her  head  again 
merrily. 

"I  shan't  be  satisfied  with  anything —  but  to  sit  it 
out  with  Mr.  Smith.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Smith,"  she 
bowed,  as  she  took  his  promptly  offered  arm. 

And  Mr.  Smith  bore  her  away  followed  by  the  de 
spairing  groans  of  the  two  disappointed  youths  and 
the  taunting  gibes  of  their  companions. 

"There!  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  came,"  sighed  Melli 
cent.  "  You  did  n't  mind?  " 

"Mind?  I'm  in  the  seventh  heaven!"  avowed  Mr. 
Smith  with  exaggerated  gallantry.  "And  it  looked  like 
a  real  rescue,  too." 

Mellicent  laughed.  Her  color  deepened. 

"Those  boys —  they're  so  silly!"  she  pouted. 

"Was  n't  one  of  them  young  Pennock?" 

"Yes,  the  tall,  dark  one." 

"He's  come  back,  I  see." 

She  flashed  an  understanding  look  into  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  come  back.  I  wonder  if  he  thinks 
I  don't  know  —  why!" 

"And  —  you?"  Mr.  Smith  was  smiling  quizzically. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  demure  dropping 
of  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  let  him  come  back  —  to  a  certain  extent. 
I  should  n't  want  him  to  think  I  cared  or  noticed 
enough  to  keep  him  from  coming  back  —  some." 

155 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"But  there's  a  line  beyond  which  he  may  not 
pass,  eh?" 

"There  certainly  is!  —  but  let's  not  talk  of  him.  Oh, 
Mr.  Smith,  I'm  so  happy!"  she  breathed  ecstatically. 

"I'm  very  glad." 

In  a  secluded  corner  they  sat  down  on  a  gilt  settee. 

"And  it's  all  so  wonderful,  this — all  this!  Why, 
Mr.  Smith,  I  'm  so  happy  I  —  I  want  to  cry  all  the 
time.  And  that 's  so  silly  —  to  want  to  cry !  But  I  do. 
So  long  —  all  my  life  —  I  've  had  to  wait  for  things 
so.  It  was  always  by  and  by,  in  the  future,  that  I 
was  going  to  have  —  anything  that  I  wanted.  And 
now  to  have  them  like  this,  all  at  once,  everything  I 
want  —  why,  Mr.  Smith,  it  does  n't  seem  as  if  it  could 
be  true.  It  just  can't  be  true!" 

"But  it  is  true,  dear  child;  and  I'm  so  glad  —  you've 
got  your  five-pound  box  of  candy  all  at  once  at  last. 
And  I  hope  you  can  treat  your  friends  to  unlimited 
soda  waters." 

"Oh,  I  can!  But  that  is  n't  all.  Listen!"  Anew 
eagerness  came  to  her  eyes.  "I'm  going  to  give  mother 
a  present  —  a  frivolous,  foolish  present,  such  as  I  Ve 
always  wanted  to.  I  'm  going  to  give  her  a  gold  breast 
pin  with  an  amethyst  in  it.  She 's  always  wanted  one. 
And  I  'm  going  to  take  my  own  money  for  it,  too,  — 
not  the  new  money  that  father  gives  me,  but  some 
money  I  've  been  saving  up  for  years  —  dimes  and 
quarters  and  half-dollars  in  my  baby-bank.  Mother 
always  made  me  save  'most  every  cent  I  got,  you  see. 
And  I  'm  going  to  take  it  now  for  this  pin.  She  won't 
mind  if  I  do  spend  it  foolishly  now  —  with  all  the 
rest  we  have.  And  she'll  be  so  pleased  with  the  pin!" 

156 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

"And  she's  always  wanted  one?" 

"Yes,  always;  but  she  never  thought  she  could 
afford  it.  But  now  — !  I'm  going  to  open  the  bank  to 
morrow  and  count  it;  and  I'm  so  excited  over  it!" 
She  laughed  shamefacedly.  "I  don't  believe  Mr.  Ful 
ton  himself  ever  took  more  joy  counting  his  millions 
than  I  shall  take  in  counting  those  quarters  and  half- 
dollars  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  believe  he  ever  did."  Mr.  Smith  spoke 
with  confident  emphasis,  yet  in  a  voice  that  was  not 
quite  steady.  "I'm  sure  he  never  did." 

"What  a  comfort  you  are,  Mr.  Smith,"  smiled 
Mellicent,  a  bit  mistily.  "You  always  understand  so! 
And  we  miss  you  terribly  —  honestly  we  do !  —  since 
you  went  away.  But  I'm  glad  Aunt  Maggie's  got  you. 
Poor  Aunt  Maggie!  That's  the  only  thing  that  makes 
me  feel  bad,  —  about  the  money,  I  mean,  —  and  that 
is  that  she  did  n't  have  some,  too.  But  mother's  go 
ing  to  give  her  some.  She  says  she  is,  and  —  " 

But  Mellicent  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  A  short, 
sandy-haired  youth  came  up  and  pointed  an  accusing 
finger  at  her  dance  card;  and  Mellicent  said  yes,  the 
next  dance  was  his.  But  she  smiled  brightly  at  Mr. 
Smith  as  she  floated  away,  and  Mr.  Smith,  well  con 
tent,  turned  and  walked  into  the  adjoining  room. 

He  came  face  to  face  then  with  Mrs.  Hattie  and 
her  daughter.  These  two  ladies,  also,  were  pictures 
of  radiant  loveliness  —  especially  were  they  radiant, 
for  every  beam  of  light  found  an  answering  flash  in 
the  shimmering  iridescence  of  their  beads  and  jewels 
and  opalescent  sequins. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Smith,  what  do  you  think  of  my  party?" 

157 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

As  she  asked  the  question  Mrs.  Hattie  tapped  his 
shoulder  with  her  fan. 

"I  think  a  great  deal  —  of  your  party,"  smiled  the 
man.  "And  you?"  He  turned  to  Miss  Bessie. 

"Oh,  it'll  do —  for  Hillerton."  Miss  Bessie  smiled 
mischievously  into  her  mother's  eyes,  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  passed  on  into  the  music-room. 

"As  if  it  was  n't  quite  the  finest  thing  Hillerton 
ever  had  —  except  the  Gaylord  parties,  of  course," 
bridled  Mrs.  Hattie,  turning  to  Mr.  Smith.  "That's 
just  daughter's  way  of  teasing  me —  and,  of  course, 
now  she  is  where  she  sees  the  real  thing  in  enter 
taining  —  she  goes  home  with  those  rich  girls  in  her 
school,  you  know.  But  this  is  a  nice  party,  is  n't  it, 
Mr.  Smith?" 

"It  certainly  is." 

"Daughter  says  we  should  have  wine;  that  every 
body  who  is  anybody  has  wine  now  —  champagne, 
and  cigarettes  for  the  ladies.  Think  of  it  —  in  Hiller 
ton!  Still,  I've  heard  the  Gaylords  do.  I've  never 
been  there  yet,  though,  of  course,  we  shall  be  invited 
now.  I'm  crazy  to  see  the  inside  of  their  house;  but 
I  don't  believe  it's  much  handsomer  than  this.  Do 
you?  But  there!  You  don't  know,  of  course.  YouVe 
never  been  there,  any  more  than  I  have,  and  you  're  a 
man  of  simple  tastes,  I  judge,  Mr.  Smith."  She  smiled 
graciously.  "Benny  says  that  Aunt  Maggie's  got 
the  nicest  house  he  ever  saw,  and  that  Mr.  Smith 
says  so,  too.  So,  you  see,  I  have  grounds  for  my 
opinion." 

Mr.  Smith  laughed. 

"Well,  I'm  not  sure  I  ever  said  just  that  to  Benny, 

158 


but  I'll  not  dispute  it.  Miss  Maggie's  house  is  indeed 
wonderfully  delightful  —  to  live  in." 

"I've  no  doubt  of  it,"  conceded  Mrs.  Hattie  com 
placently.  "Poor  Maggie!  She  always  did  contrive 
to  make  the  most  of  everything  she  had.  But  she's 
never  been  ambitious  for  really  nice  things,  I  imagine. 
At  least,  she  always  seems  contented  enough  with 
her  shabby  chairs  and  carpets.  While  I  — "  She 
paused,  looked  about  her,  then  drew  a  blissful  sigh. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  you  don't  know — you  can't  know 
what  it  is  to  me  to  just  look  around  and  realize  that 
they  are  all  mine  —  these  beautiful  things ! " 

"Then  you're  very  happy,  Mrs.  Blaisdell?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Why,  Mr.  Smith,  there  isn't  apiece 
of  furniture  in  this  room  that  did  n't  cost  more  than 
the  Pennocks'  —  I  know,  because  I  've  been  there. 
And  my  curtains  are  nicer,  too,  and  my  pictures, 
they  're  so  much  brighter  —  some  of  her  oil  paintings 
are  terribly  dull-looking.  And  my'I$$ssie — did  you 
notice  her  dress  to-night?  But,  ther(f£  You  didn't, 
of  course.  And  if  you  had,  you  would  n't  have  real 
ized  how  expensive  it  was.  What  do  you  know  about 
the  cost  of  women's  dresses?"  she  laughed  archly. 
"But  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  It  was  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  it 
came  from  New  York.  I  don't  believe  that  white  mus 
lin  thing  of  Gussie  Pennock's  cost  fifty!  You  know 
Gussie?" 

"I've  seen  her." 

"Yes,  of  course  you  have — with  Fred.  He  used 
to  go  with  her  a  lot.  He  goes  with  Pearl  Gaylord  more 
now.  There,  you  can  see  them  this  minute,  dancing 

159 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

together  —  the  one  in  the  low-cut,  blue  dress.  Pretty, 
too,  isn't  she?  Her  father's  worth  a  million,  I  sup 
pose.  I  wonder  how  't  would  feel  to  be  worth  —  a 
million."  She  spoke  musingly,  her  eyes  following  the 
low-cut  blue  dress.  "But,  then,  maybe  I  shall  know, 
some  time, —  from  Cousin  Stanley,  I  mean,"  she  ex 
plained  smilingly,  in  answer  to  the  question  she 
thought  she  saw  behind  Mr.  Smith's  smoked  glasses. 
"Oh,  of  course,  there's  nothing  sure  about  it.  But  he 
gave  us  some,  and  if  he's  dead,  of  course,  that  other 
letter '11  be  opened  in  two  years;  and  I  don't  see  why 
he  would  n't  give  us  the  rest,  as  long  as  he  'd  shown 
he  remembered  he'd  got  us.  Do  you?" 

"Well  —  er—  as  to  that  —  "  Mr.  Smith  hesitated. 
He  had  grown  strangely  red. 

"Well,  there  aren't  any  other  relations  so  near, 
anyway,  so  I  can't  help  thinking  about  it,  and  won 
dering,"  she  interposed.  "And  't  would  be  millions, 
not  just  one  million.  He's  worth  ten  or  twenty,  they 
say.  But,  then,  we  shall  know  in  time." 

"Oh,  yes,  you'll  know — in  time,"  agreed  Mr. 
Smith  with  a  smile,  turning  away  as  another  guest 
came  up  to  his  hostess. 

Mr.  Smith's  smile  had  been  rather  forced,  and  his 
face  was  still  somewhat  red  as  he  picked  his  way 
through  the  crowded  rooms  to  the  place  where  he 
could  see  Frank  Blaisdell  standing  alone,  surveying 
the  scene,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"Well,  Mr.  Smith,  this  is  some  show,  ain't  it?" 
greeted  the  grocer,  as  Mr.  Smith  approached. 

"It  certainly  is." 

"Gee!  I  should  say  so — though  I  can't  say  I'm 

160 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

stuck  on  the  brand,  myself.  But,  as  for  this  money 
business,  do  you  know?  I'm  as  bad  as  Flo.  I  can't 
sense  it  yet —  that  it's  true.  Gosh!  Look  at  Hattie, 
now.  Ain't  she  swingin'  the  style  to-night?" 

"  She  certainly  is  looking  handsome  and  very  happy." 

"Well,  she  ought  to.  I  believe  in  lookin'  happy. 
And  I  believe  in  takin'  some  comfort  as  you  go  along 
—  not  that  I  've  taken  much,  in  times  past.  But  I  'm 
goin'  to  now." 

"Good!  I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 

"Well,  I  am.  Why,  man,  I'm  just  like  a  potato- 
top  grown  in  a  cellar,  and  I  'm  comin'  out  and  get  some 
sunshine.  And  Mellicent  is,  too.  Poor  child!  She's 
been  a  potato- top  in  a  cellar  all  right.  But  now  — 
Have  you  seen  her  to-night?" 

"I  have — and  a  very  charming  sight  she  was," 
smiled  Mr.  Smith. 

"Ain't  she,  now?"  The  father  beamed  proudly. 
"Well,  she's  goin'  to  be  that  right  along  now.  She's 
goin'  where  she  wants  to  go,  and  do  what  she  wants 
to  do;  and  she's  goin'  to  have  all  the  fancy  fluma- 
diddles  to  wear  she  wants." 

"Good!  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  too,"  laughed  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Well,  she  is.  This  savin'  an'  savin'  is  all  very  well, 
of  course,  when  you  have  to.  But  I've  saved  all  my 
life,  and,  by  jingo,  I'm  goin'  to  spend  now!  You  see 
if  I  don't." 

"I  hope  you  will." 

"Thank  you.  I'm  glad  to  have  one  on  my  side, 
anyhow-  I  only  wish  —  You  could  n't  talk  my 
wife  'round  to  your  way  of  thinkin',  could  you?"  he 

161 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

shrugged,  with  a  whimsical  smile.  "My  wife's  eaten 
sour  cream  to  save  the  sweet  all  her  life,  an'  she  hain't 
learned  yet  that  if  she'd  eat  the  sweet  to  begin  with, 
she  would  n't  have  no  sour  cream  —  't  would  n't  have 
time  to  get  sour.  An'  there's  apples,  too.  She  eats 
the  specked  ones  always;  so  she  don't  never  eat  any 
thing  but  the  worst  there  is.  An'  she  says  they're  the 
meanest  apples  she  ever  saw.  Now  I  tell  her  if  she'll 
only  pick  out  the  best  there  is  every  time,  as  I  do, 
she'll  not  only  enjoy  every  apple  she  eats,  but  she'll 
think  they  're  the  nicest  apples  that  ever  grew.  Funny, 
ain't  it?  Here  I  am  havin'  to  urge  my  wife  to  spend 
money,  while  my  sister-in-law  here —  Talk  about 
ducks  takin'  to  the  water!  That  ain't  no  name  for  the 
way  she  sails  into  Jim's  little  pile." 

Mr.  Smith  laughed. 

"By  the  way,  where  is  Mr.  Jim?"  he  asked. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"Hain't  seen  him —  but  I  can  guess  where  he  is, 
pretty  well.  You  go  down  that  hall  and  turn  to  your 
left.  In  a  little  room  at  the  end  you  '11  find  him.  That 's 
his  den.  He  told  Hattie  't  was  the  only  room  in  the 
house  he  'd  ask  for,  but  he  wanted  to  fix  it  up  himself. 
Hattie,  she  wanted  to  buy  all  sorts  of  truck  and  fix 
it  up  with  cushions  and  curtains  and  Japanese  gim- 
cracks  like  she  see  a  den  in  a  book,  and  make  a  show- 
place  of  it.  But  Jim  held  out  and  had  his  way.  There 
ain't  nothin'  in  it  but  books  and  chairs  and  a  couch 
and  a  big  table;  and  they  're  all  old  —  except  the  books 
—  so  Hattie  don't  show  it  much,  when  she's  showin' 
off  the  house.  You'll  find  him  there  all  right.  You 
see  if  you  don't.  Jim  always  would  rather  read  than 

162 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

eat,  and  he  hates  shindigs  of  this  sort  a  little  worse 
'n  I  do." 

"All  right.  I'll  look  him  up,"  nodded  Mr.  Smith, 
as  he  turned  away. 

Deliberately,  but  with  apparent  carelessness,  strolled 
Mr.  Smith  through  the  big  drawing-rooms,  and  down 
the  hall.  Then  to  the  left  —  the  directions  were  not 
hard  to  follow,  and  the  door  of  the  room  at  the  end 
was  halfway  open,  giving  a  glimpse  of  James  Blais- 
dell  and  Benny  before  the  big  fireplace. 

With  a  gentle  tap  and  a  cheerful  "Do  you  allow 
intruders?"  Mr.  Smith  pushed  open  the  door. 

James  Blaisdell  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Er — I — oh,  Mr.  Smith,  come  in,  come  right 
in!"  The  frown  on  his  face  gave  way  to  a  smile.  "I 
thought —  Well,  never  mind  what  I  thought.  Sit 
down,  won't  you?" 

"Thank  you,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Mr.  Smith  dropped  into  a  chair  and  looked  about 
him. 

"Ain't  it  great?"  beamed  Benny.  "It's  'most  as 
nice  as  Aunt  Maggie's,  ain't  it?  And  I  can  eat  all  the 
cookies  here  I  want  to,  and  come  in  even  if  my  shoes 
are  muddy,  and  bring  the  boys  in,  too." 

"It  certainly  is  —  great,"  agreed  Mr.  Smith,  his 
admiring  eyes  sweeping  the  room  again. 

To  Mr.  Smith  it  was  like  coming  into  another  world. 
The  deep,  comfortable  chairs,  the  shaded  lights,  the 
leaping  fire  on  the  hearth,  the  book-lined  walls  — 
even  the  rhythmic  voices  of  the  distant  violins  seemed 
to  sing  of  peace  and  quietness  and  rest. 

"Dad's  been  showin'  me  the  books  he  used  ter  like 

163 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

when  he  was  a  little  boy  like  me,"  announced  Benny. 
"Hain't  he  got  a  lot  of  'em? —  books,  I  mean." 

"He  certainly  has." 

Mr.  James  Blaisdell  stirred  a  little  in  his  chair. 

"I  suppose  I  have — crowded  them  a  little,"  he 
admitted.  "But,  you  see,  there  were  so  many  I'd  al 
ways  wanted,  and  when  the  chance  came  —  well,  I 
just  bought  them;  that's  all." 

"And  you  have  the  time  now  to  read  them." 

"I  have,  thank —  Well,  I  suppose  I  should  say, 
thanks  to  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,"  he  laughed,  with 
some  embarrassment.  "I  wish  Mr.  Fulton  could 
know  —  how  much  I  do  thank  him,"  he  finished 
soberly,  his  eyes  caressing  the  rows  of  volumes  on 
the  shelves.  "You  see,  when  you've  wanted  some 
thing  all  your  life  —  "  He  stopped  with  an  expressive 
gesture. 

"You  don't  care  much  for —  that,  then,  I  take  it," 
inferred  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  toward 
the  distant  violins. 

"  Dad  says  there 's  only  one  thing  worse  than  a  party, 
and  that's  two  parties,"  piped  up  Benny  from  his  scat 
on  the  rug. 

Mr.  Smith  laughed  heartily,  but  the  other  looked 
still  more  discomfited. 

"I  'm  afraid  Benny  is —  is  telling  tales  out  of  school," 
he  murmured. 

"Well,  'tis  out  of  school,  ain't  it?"  maintained 
Benny.  "Say,  Mr.  Smith,  did  you  have  ter  go  ter  a 
private  school  when  you  were  a  little  boy?  Ma  says 
everybody  does  who  is  anybody.  But  if  it's  Cousin 
Stanley's  money  that's  made  us  somebody,  I  wished 

164 


THE  DANCING  BEGINS 

he'd  kept  it  at  home —  'fore  I  had  ter  go  ter  that  old 
school." 

"Oh,  come,  come,  my  boy,"  remonstrated  the  father, 
drawing  his  son  into  the  circle  of  his  arm.  "That's 
neither  kind  nor  grateful;  besides,  you  don't  know 
what  you're  talking  about.  Come,  suppose  we  show 
Mr.  Smith  some  of  the  new  books." 

From  case  to  case,  then,  they  went,  the  host  eagerly 
displaying  and  explaining,  the  guest  almost  as  eagerly 
watching  and  listening.  And  in  the  kindling  eye  and 
reverent  fingers  of  the  man  handling  the  volumes, 
Mr.  Smith  caught  some  inkling  of  what  those  books 
meant  to  Jim  Blaisdell. 

"You  must  be  fond  of — books,  Mr.  Blaisdell," 
he  said  somewhat  awkwardly,  after  a  time. 

"Ma  says  dad'd  rather  read  than  eat,"  giggled 
Benny;  "but  pa  says  readin'  is  eatin'.  But  I'd  rather 
have  a  cookie,  would  n't  you,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"You  wait  till  you  find  what  there  is  in  these  books, 
my  son,"  smiled  his  father.  "You'll  love  them  as  well 
as  I  do,  some  day.  And  your  brother  —  "  He  paused, 
a  swift  shadow  on  his  face.  He  turned  to  Mr.  Smith. 
"My  boy,  Fred,  loves  books,  too.  He  helped  me  a  lot 
in  my  buying.  He  was  in  here  — •  a  little  while  ago. 
But  he  could  n't  stay,  of  course.  He  said  he  had  to 
go  and  dance  with  the  girls  —  his  mother  expected  it." 

"Ho!  Mother  I  Just  as  if  he  didn't  want  ter  go 
himself!"  grinned  Benny  derisively.  "You  couldn't 
hire  him  ter  stay  away  —  'specially  if  Pearl  Gay- 
lord 's  'round." 

"Oh,  well,  he's  young,  and  young  feet  always  dance 
when  Pan  pipes,"  explained  the  father,  with  a  smile 

165 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

that  was  a  bit  forced.  "But  Pan  does  n't  always  pipe, 
and  he's  ambitious —  Fred  is."  The  man  turned  ea 
gerly  to  Mr.  Smith  again.  "He's  going  to  be  a  lawyer 
-  you  see,  he 's  got  a  chance  now.  He 's  a  fine  student. 
He  led  his  class  in  high  school,  and  he'll  make  good  in 
college,  I  'm  sure.  He  can  have  the  best  there  is  now, 
too,  without  killing  himself  with  work  to  get  it.  He's 
got  a  fine  mind,  and  —  The  man  stopped  abruptly, 
with  a  shamed  laugh.  "But  —  enough  of  this.  You'll 
forgive  'the  fond  father,'  I  know.  I  always  forget 
myself  when  I  'm  talking  of  that  boy  —  or,  rather, 
perhaps  it's  that  I'm  remembering  myself.  You  see, 
I  want  him  to  do  all  that  I  wanted  to  do  —  and  could 
n't.  And  —  " 

"Jim,  Jim!"  It  was  Mrs.  Hattie  in  the  doorway. 
"There,  I  might  have  known  where  I'd  find  you. 
Come,  the  guests  are  going,  and  are  looking  for  you 
to  say  good-night.  Jim,  you'll  have  to  come!  Why, 
what '11  people  say?  They'll  think  we  don't  know  any 
thing  —  how  to  behave,  and  all  that.  Mr.  Smith, 
you'll  excuse  him,  I  know." 

"Most  certainly,"  declared  Mr.  Smith.  "I  must 
be  going  myself,  for  that  matter,"  he  finished,  as  he 
followed  his  hostess  through  the  doorway. 

Five  minutes  later  he  had  found  Miss  Maggie,  and 
was  making  his  adieus. 

Miss  Maggie,  on  the  way  home,  was  strangely  silent. 

"Well,  that  was  some  party,"  began  Mr.  Smith, 
after  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"It  was,  indeed." 

"Quite  a  house!" 

"Yes." 

166 


"  JIM,  YOU  'LL  HAVE  TO  COME! 


THE   DANCING   BEGINS 

"How  pretty  Miss  Mellicent  looked!" 

"Very  pretty." 

"I'm  glad  at  last  to  see  that  poor  child  enjoying 
herself." 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Smith  frowned  and  stole  a  sidewise  glance  at 
his  companion.  Was  it  possible?  Could  Miss  Maggie 
be  showing  at  last  a  tinge  of  envy  and  jealousy?  It 
was  so  unlike  her !  And  yet  — 

"Even  Miss  Flora  seemed  to  be  having  a  good  time, 
in  spite  of  that  funereal  black,"  he  hazarded  again. 

"Yes." 

"And  I'm  sure  Mrs.  James  Blaisdell  and  Miss 
Bessie  were  very  radiant  and  shining." 

"Oh,  yes,  they —  shone." 

Mr.  Smith  bit  his  lip,  and  stole  another  sidewise 
glance. 

"Er —  how  did  you  enjoy  it?  Did  you  have  a  good 
time?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Mr.  Smith  drew  a  long 
breath  and  began  again. 

"I  had  no  idea  Mr.  James  Blaisdell  was  so  fond  of 
-  er  —  books.    I  had  quite  a  chat  with  him  in  his 
den." 

No  answer. 

"  He  says  Fred  — " 

"Did  you  see  that  Gaylord  girl?"  Miss  Maggie 
was  galvanized  into  sudden  life.  "He's  perfectly  be 
witched  with  her.  And  she  —  that  ridiculous  dress  — 
and  for  a  young  girl!  Oh,  I  wish  Hattie  would  let 
those  people  alone!" 

107 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Oh,  well,  he'll  be  off  to  college  next  week,"  soothed 
Mr.  Smith. 

"Yes,  but  whom  with?  Her  brother!  —  and  he's 
worse  than  she  is,  if  anything.  Why,  he  was  drunk 
to-night,  actually  drunk,  when  he  came!  I  don't 
want  Fred  with  him.  I  don't  want  Fred  with  any  of 
them." 

"No,  I  don't  like  their  looks  myself  very  well,  but 

—  I  fancy  young  Blaisdell  has  a  pretty  level  head  on 
him.  His  father  says  —  " 

"His  father  worships  him,"  interrupted  Miss  Mag 
gie.  "He  worships  all  those  children.  But  into  Fred 

—  into  Fred  he  's  pouring  his  whole  lost  youth.   You 
don't  know.    You  don't  understand,  of  course,  Mr. 
Smith.  You  haven't  known  him  all  the  way,  as  I  have." 
Miss  Maggie's  voice  shook  with  suppressed  feeling. 
"Jim  was  always  the  dreamer.   He  fairly  lived  in  his 
books.  They  were  food  and  drink  to  him.  He  planned 
for  college,  of  course.  From  boyhood  he  was  going  to 
write  —  great  plays,  great  poems,  great  novels.    He 
was  always  scribbling  —  something.   I  think  he  even 
tried  to  sell  his  things,  in  his  'teens;  but  of  course 
nothing  came  of  that  —  but  rejection  slips. 

"At  nineteen  he  entered  college.  He  was  going  to 
work  his  way.  Of  course,  we  could  n't  send  him.  But 
he  was  too  frail.  He  could  n't  stand  the  double  task, 
and  he  broke  down  completely.  We  sent  him  into 
the  country  to  recuperate,  and  there  he  met  Hattie 
Snow,  fell  head  over  heels  in  love  with  her  blue  eyes 
and  golden  hair,  and  married  her  on  the  spot.  Of 
course,  there  was  nothing  to  do  then  but  to  go  to 
work,  and  Mr.  Hammond  took  him  into  his  real  estate 

1C8 


THE  DANCING   BEGINS 

and  insurance  office.  He's  been  there  ever  since,  plod 
ding,  plodding,  plodding." 

"By  George!"  murmured  Mr.  Smith  sympatheti 
cally. 

"You  can  imagine  there  was  n't  much  time  left  for 
books.  I  think,  when  he  first  went  there,  he  thought 
he  was  still  going  to  write  the  great  poem,  the  great 
play,  the  great  novel,  that  was  to  bring  him  fame  and 
money.  But  he  soon  learned  better.  Hattie  had  little 
patience  with  his  scribbling,  and  had  less  with  the 
constant  necessity  of  scrimping  and  economizing.  She 
was  always  ambitious  to  get  ahead  and  be  somebody, 
and,  of  course,  as  the  babies  came  and  the  expenses  in 
creased,  the  demand  for  more  money  became  more  and 
more  insistent.  But  Jim,  poor  Jim!  He  never  was  a 
money-maker.  He  worked,  and  worked  hard,  and  then 
he  got  a  job  for  evenings  and  worked  harder.  But  I 
don't  believe  he  ever  quite  caught  up.  That's  why  I 
was  so  glad  when  this  money  came  —  for  Jim.  And 
now,  don't  you  see?  he's  thrown  his  whole  lost  youth 
into  Fred.  And  Fred  —  " 

"Fred  is  going  to  make  good.  You  see  if  he 
doesn't!" 

"I  hope  he  will.  But —  I  wish  those  Gaylords  had 
been  at  the  bottom  of  the  Red  Sea  before  they  ever 
came  to  Hillerton,"  she  fumed  with  sudden  vehemence 
as  she  entered  her  own  gate. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

IT  was  certainly  a  gay  one  —  that  holiday  week.  Be 
ginning  with  the  James  Blaisdells'  housewarming,  it 
was  one  continuous  round  of  dances,  dinners,  sleigh- 
rides  and  skating  parties  for  Hillerton's  young  people, 
particularly  for  the  Blaisdells,  the  Pennocks,  and  the 
Gay  lords. 

Mr.  Smith,  at  Miss  Maggie's,  saw  comparatively 
little  of  it  all,  though  he  had  almost  daily  reports  from 
Benny,  Mellicent,  or  Miss  Flora,  who  came  often  to 
Miss  Maggie's  for  a  little  chat.  It  was  from  Miss  Flora 
that  he  learned  the  outcome  of  Mellicent's  present  to 
her  mother.  The  week  was  past,  and  Miss  Flora  had 
come  down  to  Miss  Maggie's  for  a  little  visit. 

Mr.  Smith  still  worked  at  the  table  in  the  corner  of 
the  living-room,  though  the  Duff-Blaisdell  records  were 
all  long  ago  copied.  He  was  at  work  now  sorting  and 
tabulating  other  Blaisdell  records.  Mr.  Smith  seemed 
to  find  no  end  to  the  work  that  had  to  be  done  on  his 
Blaisdell  book. 

As  Miss  Flora  entered  the  room  she  greeted  Mr. 
Smith  cordially,  and  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"Well,  they've  gone  at  last,"  she  panted,  handing 
her  furs  to  Miss  Maggie;  "so  I  thought  I'd  come  down 
and  talk  things  over.  No,  don't  go,  Mr.  Smith,"  she 
begged,  as  he  made  a  move  toward  departure.  "I 
hain't  coine,  to  say  nothin'  private;  besides,  you're 

170 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

just  like  one  of  the  family,  anyhow.  Keep  right  on 
with  your  work,  please." 

Thus  entreated,  Mr.  Smith  went  back  to  his  table, 
and  Miss  Flora  settled  herself  more  comfortably  in 
Miss  Maggie's  easiest  chair. 

"So  they're  all  gone,"  said  Miss  Maggie  cheerily. 

"Yes;  an'  it's  time  they  did,  to  my  way  of  thinkin'. 
Mercy  me,  what  a  week  it  has  been !  They  hain't  been 
still  a  minute,  not  one  of  'em,  except  for  a  few  hours' 
sleep  —  toward  mornin'." 

"But  what  a  good  time  they've  had!"  exulted  Miss 
Maggie. 

"Yes.  And  did  n't  it  do  your  soul  good  to  see  Melli- 
cent?  But  Jane  —  Jane  nearly  had  a  fit.  She  told  Mel- 
licent  that  all  this  gayety  was  nothing  but  froth  and 
flimsiness  and  vexation  of  spirit.  That  she  knew  it 
because  she  'd  been  all  through  it  when  she  was  young, 
and  she  knew  the  vanity  of  it.  And  Mellicent  —  what 
do  you  suppose  that  child  said?" 

"I  can't  imagine,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie. 

"She  said  she  wanted  to  see  the  vanity  of  it,  too. 
Pretty  cute  of  her,  too,  wasn't  it?  Still  it's  just  as 
well  she's  gone  back  to  school,  I  think  myself.  She's 
been  repressed  and  held  back  so  long,  that  when  she 
did  let  loose,  it  was  just  like  cutting  the  puckering 
string  of  a  bunched-up  ruffle  —  she  flew  in  all  direc 
tions,  and  there  was  no  holding  her  back  anywhere; 
and  I  suppose  she  has  been  a  bit  foolish  and  extrava 
gant  in  the  things  she 's  asked  for.  Poor  dear,  though, 
she  did  get  one  setback." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Did  she  tell  you  about  the  present  for  her  mother?  " 

171 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"That  she  was  going  to  get  it —  yes." 

Across  the  room  Mr.  Smith  looked  up  suddenly. 

"Well,  she  got  it."  Miss  Flora's  thin  lips  snapped 
grimly  over  the  terse  words.  "But  she  had  to  take 
it  back." 

"Take  it  back!"  cried  Miss  Maggie. 

"Yes.  And  'twas  a  beauty — one  of  them  light 
purple  stones  with  two  pearls.  Mellicent  showed  it  to 
me  —  on  the  way  home  from  the  store,  you  know. 
And  she  was  so  pleased  over  it!  'Oh,  I  don't  mind  the 
saving  all  those  years  now,'  she  cried,  'when  I  see 
what  a  beautiful  thing  they've  let  me  get  for  mother.' 
And  she  went  off  so  happy  she  just  could  n't  keep  her 
feet  from  dancing." 

'"I  can  imagine  it,"  nodded  Miss  Maggie. 

"Well,  in  an  hour  she  was  back.  But  what  a  differ 
ence  !  All  the  light  and  happiness  and  springiness  were 
gone.  She  was  almost  crying.  She  still  carried  the  little 
box  in  her  hand.  'I'm  takin'  it  back/  she  choked. 
'Mother  doesn't  like  it.'  'Don't  like  that  beautiful 
pin! 'says  I.  'What  does  she  want?' 

"Oh,  yes,  she  liked  the  pin,'  said  Mellicent,  all 
teary;  'she  thinks  it's  beautiful.  But  she  doesn't 
want  anything.  She  says  she  never  heard  of  such  fool 
ish  goings-on  —  paying  all  that  money  for  a  silly, 
useless  pin.  I  —  I  told  her  't  was  a  present  from  me, 
but  she  made  me  take  it  back.  I'm  on  my  way  now 
back  to  the  store.  I  'm  to  get  the  money,  if  I  can.  If  I 
can't,  I'm  to  get  a  credit  slip.  Mother  says  we  can 
take  it  up  in  forks  and  spoons  and  things  we  need. 
I  —  I  told  her  't  was  a  present,  but  —  '  She  could  n't 
say  another  word,  poor  child.  She  just  turned  and 

172 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

almost  ran  from  the  room.  That  was  last  night.  She 
went  away  this  morning,  I  suppose.  I  did  n't  see  her 
again,  so  I  don't  know  how  she  did  come  out  with  the 
store-man." 

"Too  bad —  too  bad!"  sympathized  Miss  Maggie. 
(Over  at  the  table  Mr.  Smith  had  fallen  to  writing 
furiously,  with  vicious  little  jabs  of  his  pencil.)  "But 
Jane  never  did  believe  in  present-giving.  They  never 
gave  presents  to  each  other  even  at  Christmas.  She 
always  called  it  a  foolish,  wasteful  practice,  and  Melli- 
cent  was  always  so  unhappy  Christmas  morning!" 

"I  know  it.  And  that's  just  what  the  trouble  is. 
Don't  you  see?  Jane  never  let  'em  take  even  comfort, 
and  now  that  they  can  take  some  comfort,  Jane's  got 
so  out  of  the  habit,  she  don't  know  how  to  begin." 

"Careful,  careful,  Flora!"  laughed  Miss  Maggie. 
"I  don't  think  you  can  say  much  on  that  score." 

"Why,  Maggie  Duff,  I'm  taking  comfort,"  bridled 
Miss  Flora.  "Didn't  I  have  chicken  last  week  and 
turkey  three  weeks  ago?  And  do  I  ever  skimp  the 
butter  or  hunt  for  cake-rules  with  one  egg  now?  And 
ain't  I  going  to  Niagara  and  have  a  phonograph  and 
move  into  a  fine  place  just  as  soon  as  my  mourning  is 
up?  You  wait  and  see!" 

"All  right,  I'll  wait,"  laughed  Miss  Maggie.  Then, 
a  bit  anxiously,  she  asked:  "Did  Fred  go  to-day?" 

"Yes,  looking  fine  as  a  fiddle,  too.  I  was  sweeping 
off  the  steps  when  he  went  by  the  house.  He  stopped 
and  spoke.  Said  he  was  going  in  now  for  real  work  — • 
that  he'd  played  long  enough.  He  said  he  would  n't 
be  good  for  a  row  of  pins  if  he  had  many  such  weeks 
as  this  had  been." 

173 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I'm  glad  he  realized  it,"  observed  Miss  Maggie 
grimly.  "I  suppose  the  Gay  lord  young  people  went, 
too." 

"Hibbard  did,  but  Pearl  does  n't  go  till  next  week. 
She  is  n't  in  the  same  school  with  Bess,  you  know. 
It's  even  grander  than  Bess's  they  say.  Hattie  wants 
to  get  Bess  into  it  next  year.  Oh,  I  forgot;  we've  got 
to  call  her  'Elizabeth'  now.  Did  you  know  that?" 

Miss  Maggie  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  we  have.  Hattie  says  nicknames  are  all  out 
now,  and  that '  Elizabeth '  is  very  stylish  and  good  form, 
and  the  only  proper  thing  to  call  her.  She  says  we 
must  call  her  '  Harriet,'  too.  I  forgot  that." 

"And  Benny  'Benjamin'?"  smiled  Miss  Maggie. 

"Yes.  And  Jim 'James.'  But  I 'm  afraid  I  shall  for 
get  —  sometimes." 

"I'm  afraid — a  good  many  of  us  will,"  laughed 
Miss  Maggie. 

"It  all  came  from  them  Gaylords,  I  believe,"  sniffed 
Flora.  "I  don't  think  much  of  'em;  but  Hattie  seems 
to.  I  notice  she  don't  put  nothin'  discouragin'  in  the 
way  of  young  Gaylord  and  Bess.  But  he  pays  'most 
as  much  attention  to  Mellicent,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
whenever  Carl  Pennock  will  give  him  a  chance.  Did 
you  ever  see  the  beat  of  that  boy?  It's  the  money,  of 
course.  I  hope  Mellicent  '11  give  him  a  good  lesson, 
before  she  gets  through  with  it.  He  deserves  it,"  she 
ejaculated,  as  she  picked  up  her  fur  neck-piece,  and 
fastened  it  with  a  jerk. 

In  the  doorway  she  paused  and  glanced  cautiously 
toward  Mr.  Smith.  Mr.  Smith,  perceiving  the  glance, 
tried  very  hard  to  absorb  himself  in  the  rows  of  names 

174 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

and  dates  before  him;  but  he  could  not  help  hearing 
Miss  Flora's  next  words. 

"Maggie,  hain't  you  changed  your  mind  a  mite  yet? 
Won't  you  let  me  give  you  some  of  my  money?  I'd  so 
love  to,  dear!" 

But  Miss  Maggie,  with  a  violent  shake  of  her  head, 
almost  pushed  Miss  Flora  into  the  hall  and  shut  the 
door  firmly. 

Mr.  Smith,  left  alone  at  his  table,  wrote  again  furi 
ously,  and  with  vicious  little  jabs  of  his  pencil. 


One  by  one  the  winter  days  passed. 

At  the  Duffs'  Mr.  Smith  was  finding  a  most  con 
genial  home.  He  liked  Miss  Maggie  better  than  ever, 
on  closer  acquaintance.  The  Martin  girls  fitted  pleas 
antly  into  the  household,  and  plainly  did  much  to  help 
the  mistress  of  the  house.  Father  Duff  was  still  as 
irritable  as  ever,  but  he  was  not  so  much  in  evidence, 
for  his  increasing  lameness  was  confining  him  almost 
entirely  to  his  own  room.  This  meant  added  care  for 
Miss  Maggie,  but,  with  the  help  of  the  Martins,  she 
still  had  some  rest  and  leisure,  some  time  to  devote 
to  the  walks  and  talks  with  Mr.  Smith.  Mr.  Smith 
said  it  was  absolutely  imperative,  for  the  sake  of  her 
health,  that  she  should  have  some  recreation,  and  that 
it  was  an  act  of  charity,  anyway,  that  she  should 
lighten  his  loneliness  by  letting  him  walk  and  talk 
with  her. 

Mr.  Smith  could  not  help  wondering  a  good  deal 
these  days  about  Miss  Maggie's  financial  resources. 
He  knew  from  various  indications  that  they  must  be 

175 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

slender.  Yet  he  never  heard  her  plead  poverty  or 
preach  economy.  In  spite  of  the  absence  of  protecting 
rugs  and  tidies,  however,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
she  plainly  conducted  her  life  and  household  along  the 
lines  of  the  greatest  possible  comfort,  he  saw  many 
evidences  that  she  counted  the  pennies  —  and  that 
she  made  every  penny  count. 

He  knew,  for  a  fact,  that  she  had  refused  to  accept 
any  of  the  Blaisdells'  legacy.  Jane,  to  be  sure,  had  not 
offered  any  money  yet  (though  she  had  offered  the 
parlor  carpet,  which  had  been  promptly  refused),  but 
Frank  and  James  and  Flora  had  offered  money,  and 
had  urged  her  to  take  it.  Miss  Maggie,  however, 
would  have  none  of  it. 

Mr.  Smith  suspected  that  Miss  Maggie  was  proud, 
and  that  she  regarded  such  a  gift  as  savoring  too  much 
of  charity.  Mr.  Smith  wished  he  could  say  something 
to  Miss  Maggie.  Mr.  Smith  was,  indeed,  not  a  little 
disturbed  over  the  matter.  He  did  try  once  to  say 
something;  but  Miss  Maggie  tossed  it  off  with  a 
merry:  "Take  their  money?  Never!  I  should  feel  as 
if  I  were  eating  up  some  of  Jane's  interest,  or  one  of 
Hattie's  gold  chairs!"  After  that  she  would  not  let 
him  get  near  the  subject.  There  seemed  then  really 
nothing  that  he  could  do. 

It  was  about  this  time,  however,  that  Mr.  Smith 
began  to  demand  certain  extra  luxuries  —  honey, 
olives,  sardines,  candied  fruits,  and  imported  jellies. 
They  were  always  luxuries  that  must  be  bought,  not 
prepared  in  the  home;  and  he  promptly  increased  the 
price  of  his  board  —  but  to  a  sum  far  beyond  the  extra 
cost  of  the  delicacies  he  ordered.  When  Miss  Maggie 

176 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

remonstrated  at  the  size  of  the  increase,  he  pooh- 
poohed  her  objections,  and  declared  that  even  that 
did  not  pay  for  having  such  a  nuisance  of  a  boarder 
around,  with  all  his  fussy  notions.  He  insisted,  more 
over,  that  the  family  should  all  partake  freely  of  the 
various  delicacies,  declaring  that  it  seemed  to  take 
away  the  sting  of  his  fussiness  if  they  ate  as  he  ate, 
and  so  did  not  make  him  appear  singular  in  his  tastes. 

Of  the  Blaisdells  Mr.  Smith  saw  a  good  deal  that 
winter.  They  often  came  to  Miss  Maggie's,  and  occa 
sionally  he  called  at  their  homes.  Mr.  Smith  was  on 
excellent  terms  with  them  all.  They  seemed  to  re 
gard  him,  indeed,  as  quite  one  of  the  family,  and  they 
asked  his  advice,  and  discussed  their  affairs  before  him 
with  as  much  freedom  as  if  he  were,  in  truth,  a  member 
of  the  family. 

He  knew  that  Mrs.  Hattie  Blaisdell  was  having  a 
very  gay  winter,  and  that  she  had  been  invited  twice 
to  the  Gaylords'.  He  knew  that  James  Blaisdell  was 
happy  in  long  evenings  with  his  books  before  the  fire. 
From  Fred's  mother  he  learned  that  Fred  had  made 
the  most  exclusive  club  in  college,  and  from  Fred's 
father  he  learned  that  the  boy  was  already  leading 
his  class  in  his  studies.  He  heard  of  Bessie's  visits  to 
the  homes  of  wealthy  New  Yorkers,  and  of  the  trials 
Benny's  teachers  were  having  with  Benny. 

He  knew  something  of  Miss  Flora's  placid  life  in  her 
"house  of  mourning  "  (as  Bessie  had  dubbed  the  little 
cottage),  and  he  heard  of  the  "perfectly  lovely  times" 
Mellicent  was  having  at  her  finishing  school.  He 
dropped  in  occasionally  to  talk  over  the  price  of  beans 
and  potatoes  with  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  in  his  bustling 

177 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

grocery  store,  and  he  often  saw  Mrs.  Jane  at  Miss 
Maggie's.  It  was  at  Miss  Maggie's,  indeed,  one  day, 
that  he  heard  Mrs.  Jane  say,  as  she  sank  wearily  into 
a  chair:  — 

"Well,  I  declare!  Sometimes  I  think  I'll  never  give 
anybody  a  thing  again!" 

Mr.  Smith,  at  his  table,  was  conscious  of  a  sudden 
lively  interest.  So  often,  in  his  earlier  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Jane,  while  he  boarded  there,  had  he  heard 
her  say  to  mission-workers,  church-solicitors,  and  door 
way  beggars,  alike,  something  similar  to  this;  "No, 
I  can  give  you  nothing.  I  have  nothing  to  give.  I'd 
love  to,  if  I  could  —  really  I  would.  It  makes  me  quite 
unhappy  to  hear  of  all  this  need  and  suffering.  I  'd  so 
love  to  do  something!  And  if  I  were  rich  I  would;  but 
as  it  is,  I  can  only  give  you  my  sympathy  and  my 
prayers." 

Mr.  Smith  was  thinking  of  this  now.  He  had  won 
dered  several  times,  since  the  money  came,  as  to  Mrs. 
Jane's  giving.  Hence  his  interest  now  in  what  she  was 
about  to  say. 

"Why,  Jane,  what's  the  matter?"  Miss  Maggie  was 
querying. 

"Everything's  the  matter,"  snapped  Jane.  "And 
positively  a  more  ungrateful  set  of  people  all  around 
I  never  saw.  To  begin  with,  take  the  church.  You 
know  I  Ve  never  been  able  to  do  anything.  We  could 
n't  afford  it.  And  now  I  was  so  happy  that  I  could  do 
something,  and  I  told  them  so;  and  they  seemed  real 
pleased  at  first.  I  gave  two  dollars  apiece  to  the 
Ladies'  Aid,  the  Home  Missionary  Society,  and  the 
Foreign  Missionary  Society  —  and,  do  you  know? 

178 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

they  hardly  even  thanked  me!  They  acted  for  all  the 
world  as  if  they  expected  more  —  the  grasping  things ! 
And,  listen!  On  the  way  home,  just  as  I  passed  the 
Gale  girls,  I  heard  Sue  say:  'What's  two  dollars  to 
her?  She'll  never  miss  it.'  They  meant  me,  of  course. 
So  you  see  it  was  n't  appreciated.  Now,  was  it?" 

"Perhaps  not." 

"What's  the  good  of  giving,  if  you  are  n't  going  to 
get  any  credit,  or  thanks,  just  because  you're  rich, 
I  should  like  to  know?  And  they  are  n't  the  only  ones. 
Nothing  has  been  appreciated,"  went  on  Mrs.  Jane 
discontentedly.  "Look  at  Cousin  Mary  Davis —  you 
know  how  poor  they've  always  been,  and  how  hard 
it 's  been  for  them  to  get  along.  Her  Carrie  —  Melli- 
cent's  age,  you  know  —  has  had  to  go  to  work  in 
Hooper's  store.  Well,  I  sent  Mellicent's  old  white 
lace  party  dress  to  Mary.  'T  was  some  soiled,  of  course, 
and  a  little  torn;  but  I  thought  she  could  clean  it  and 
make  it  over  beautifully  for  Carrie.  But,  what  do 
you  think?  —  back  it  came  the  next  day  with  a  note 
from  Mary  saying  very  crisply  that  Carrie  had  no 
place  to  wear  white  lace  dresses,  and  they  had  no  time 
to  make  it  over  if  she  did.  No  place  to  wear  it,  in 
deed!  Didn't  I  invite  her  to  my  housewarming?  And 
did  n't  Hattie,  too?  But  how  are  you  going  to  help 
a  person  like  that?" 

"But,  Jane,  there  must  be  ways — some  ways." 
Miss  Maggie's  forehead  was  wrinkled  into  a  troubled 
frown.  "They  need  help,  I  know.  Mr.  Davis  has 
been  sick  a  long  time,  you  remember." 

"Yes,  I  know  he  has;  and  that's  all  the  more  rea 
son,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  why  they  should  be  grate- 

179 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

ful  for  anything —  anything  I  The  trouble  is,  she  wants 
to  be  helped  in  ways  of  her  own  choosing.  They  wanted 
Frank  to  take  Sam,  the  boy,  —  he 's  eighteen  now,  — 
into  the  store,  and  they  wanted  me  to  get  embroidery 
for  Nellie  to  do  at  home  —  she 's  lame,  you  know,  but 
she  does  do  beautiful  work.  But  I  could  n't  do  either. 
Frank  hates  relatives  in  the  store;  he  says  they  cause 
all  sorts  of  trouble  with  the  other  help;  and  I  cer 
tainly  was  n't  going  to  ask  him  to  take  any  relatives 
of  mine.  As  for  Nellie  —  I  did  ask  Hattie  if  she  could 
n't  give  her  some  napkins  to  do,  or  something,  and 
she  gave  me  a  dozen  for  her —  she  said  Nellie 'd  prob 
ably  do  them  as  cheap  as  anybody,  and  maybe  cheaper. 
But  she  told  me  not  to  go  to  the  Gaylords  or  the  Pen- 
nocks,  or  any  of  that  crowd,  for  she  would  n't  have 
them  know  for  the  world  that  we  had  a  relative  right 
here  in  town  that  had  to  take  in  sewing.  I  told  her 
they  weren't  her  relations  nor  the  Blaisdells';  they 
were  mine,  and  they  were  just  as  good  as  her  folks 
any  day,  and  that  it  was  no  disgrace  to  be  poor.  But, 
dear  me!  You  know  Hattie.  What  could  I  do?  Be 
sides,  she  got  mad  then,  and  took  back  the  dozen  nap 
kins  she'd  given  me.  So  I  did  n't  have  anything  for 
poor  Nellie.  Was  n't  it  a  shame?  " 

"I  think  it  was."  Miss  Maggie's  lips  shut  in  a  thin 
straight  line. 

"Well,  what  could  I  do?"  bridled  Jane  defiantly. 
"Besides,  if  I'd  taken  them  to  her,  they  wouldn't 
have  appreciated  it,  I  know.  They  never  appreciate 
anything.  Why,  last  November,  when  the  money 
came,  I  sent  them  nearly  all  of  Mellicent's  and  my 
old  summer  things  —  and  if  little  Tottie  did  n't  go 

180 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

and  say  afterwards  that  her  mamma  did  wish  Cousin 
Jane  would  n't  send  muslins  in  December  when  they 
had  n't  room  enough  to  store  a  safety  pin.  Oh,  of 
course,  Mary  didn't  say  that  to  me,  but  she  must  have 
said  it  somewhere,  else  Tottie  would  n't  have  got  hold 
of  it.  'Children  and  fools,'  you  know,"  she  finished 
meaningly,  as  she  rose  to  go. 

Mr.  Smith  noticed  that  Miss  Maggie  seemed  trou 
bled  that  evening,  and  he  knew  that  she  started  off 
early  the  next  morning  and  was  gone  nearly  all  day, 
coming  home  only  for  a  hurried  luncheon.  It  being 
Saturday,  the  Martin  girls  were  both  there  to  care  for 
Father  Duff  and  the  house.  Not  until  some  days  later 
did  Mr.  Smith  suspect  that  he  had  learned  the  reason 
for  all  this.  Then  a  thin-faced  young  girl  with  tired 
eyes  came  to  tea  one  evening  and  was  introduced  to 
him  as  Miss  Carrie  Davis.  Later,  when  Miss  Maggie 
had  gone  upstairs  to  put  Father  Duff  to  bed,  Mr. 
Smith  heard  Carrie  Davis  telling  Annabelle  Martin 
all  about  how  kind  Miss  Maggie  had  been  to  Nellie, 
finding  her  all  that  embroidery  to  do  for  that  rich 
Mrs.  Gaylord,  and  how  wonderful  it  was  that  she 
had  been  able  to  get  such  a  splendid  job  for  Sam  right 
in  Hooper's  store  where  she  was. 

Mr.  Smith  thought  he  understood  then  Miss  Mag 
gie's  long  absence  on  Saturday. 

Mr.  Smith  was  often  running  across  little  kindnesses 
that  Miss  Maggie  had  done.  He  began  to  think  that 
Miss  Maggie  must  be  a  very  charitable  person  —  until 
he  ran  across  several  cases  that  she  had  not  helped. 
Then  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  think. 

His  first  experience  of  this  kind  was  when  he  met 

181 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

an  unmistakably  "down-and-out"  on  the  street  one 
day,  begging  clothing,  food,  anything,  and  telling  a 
sorry  tale  of  his  unjust  discharge  from  a  local  factory. 
Mr.  Smith  gave  the  man  a  dollar,  and  sent  him  to 
Miss  Maggie.  He  happened  to  know  that  Father  Duff 
had  discarded  an  old  suit  that  morning  —  and  Father 
Duff  and  the  beggar  might  have  been  taken  for  twins 
as  to  size.  On  the  way  home  a  little  later  he  met 
the  beggar  returning,  just  as  forlorn,  and  even  more 
hungry-looking. 

"Well,  my  good  fellow,  could  n't  she  fix  you  up?" 
questioned  Mr.  Smith  in  some  surprise. 

"Fix  me  up!"  glowered  the  man  disdainfully.  "Not 
much  she  did  i  She  did  n't  fix  me  up  ter  nothin'  — 
but  chin  music!" 

And  Mr.  Smith  had  thought  Miss  Maggie  was  so 
charitable! 

A  few  days  later  he  heard  an  eager-eyed  young 
woman  begging  Miss  Maggie  for  a  contribution  to  the 
Pension  Fund  Fair  in  behalf  of  the  underpaid  shop 
girls  in  Daly's.  Daly's  was  a  Hillerton  department 
store,  notorious  for  its  unfair  treatment  of  its  em 
ployees. 

Miss  Maggie  seemed  interested,  and  asked  many 
questions.  The  eager-eyed  young  woman  became 
even  more  eager-eyed,  and  told  Miss  Maggie  all  about 
the  long  hours,  the  nerve-wearing  labor,  the  low  wages 
—  wages  upon  which  it  was  impossible  for  any  girl 
to  live  decently  —  wages  whose  meagerness  sent  many 
a  girl  to  her  ruin. 

Miss  Maggie  listened  attentively,  and  said,  "Yes, 
yes,  I  see,"  several  times.  But  in  the  end  the  eager- 

182 


FROM  ME  TO  YOU  WITH  LOVE 

eyed  young  woman  went  away  empty-handed  and 
sad-eyed.  And  Mr.  Smith  frowned  again. 

He  had  thought  Miss  Maggie  was  so  kind-hearted! 
She  gave  to  some  fairs  —  why  not  to  this  one?  As 
soon  as  possible  Mr.  Smith  hunted  up  the  eager-eyed 
young  woman  and  gave  her  ten  dollars.  He  would 
have  given  her  more,  but  he  had  learned  from  unpleas 
ant  experience  that  large  gifts  from  unpretentious 
Mr.  John  Smith  brought  comments  and  curiosity  not 
always  agreeable. 

It  was  not  until  many  weeks  later  that  Mr.  Smith 
chanced  to  hear  of  the  complete  change  of  policy 
of  Daly's  department  store.  Hours  were  shortened, 
labor  lightened,  and  wages  raised.  Incidentally  he 
learned  that  it  had  all  started  from  a  crusade  of 
women's  clubs  and  church  committees  who  had  "got 
after  old  Daly"  and  threatened  all  sorts  of  publicity 
and  unpleasantness  if  the  wrongs  were  not  righted 
at  once.  He  learned  also  that  the  leader  in  the  fore 
front  of  this  movement  had  been  —  Maggie  Duff. 

As  it  chanced,  it  was  on  that  same  day  that  a  strange 
man  accosted  him  on  the  street. 

"Say,  she  was  all  right,  she  was,  old  man.  I  been 
hopin'  I'd  see  ye  some  day  ter  tell  ye." 

"To  tell  me?"  echoed  Mr.  Smith  stupidly. 

The  man  grinned. 

"Ye  don't  know  me,  do  ye?  Well,  I  do  look  diff'rent, 
I'll  own.  Ye  give  me  a  dollar  once,  an'  sent  me  to  a 
lady  down  the  street  thar.  Now  do  ye  remember?" 

"Oh!   Oh!  Are  you  that  man?" 

"Sure  I  am!  Well,  she  was  all  right.  'Member? 
I  thought  't  was  only  chin-music  she  was  givin'  me. 

183 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

But  let  me  tell  ye.  She  hunted  up  the  wife  an*  kids, 
an'  what's  more,  she  went  an'  faced  my  boss,  an'  she 
got  me  my  job  back,  too.  What  do  ye  think  of  that, 
now?" 

"Why,  I'm— I'm  glad,  of  course!"  Mr.  Smith 
spoke  as  one  in  deep  thought. 

And  all  the  way  home  Mr.  Smith  walked  —  as  one 
in  deep  thought. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN   SEARCH   OF   REST 

JUNE  brought  all  the  young  people  home  again.  It 
brought,  also,  a  great  deal  of  talk  concerning  plans  for 
vacation.  Bessie  —  Elizabeth  —  said  they  must  all 
go  away. 

From  James  Blaisdell  this  brought  a  sudden  and 
vigorous  remonstrance. 

"Nonsense,  you've  just  got  home!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Hillerton '11  be  a  vacation  to  you  all  right.  Besides, 
I  want  my  family  together  again.  I  have  n't  seen  a 
thing  of  my  children  for  six  months." 

Elizabeth  gave  a  silvery  laugh.  (Elizabeth  had 
learned  to  give  very  silvery  laughs.)  She  shrugged 
her  shoulders  daintily  and  looked  at  her  rings. 

"Hillerton?  Ho!  You  would  n't  really  doom  us  to 
Hillerton  all  summer,  daddy." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Hillerton?" 

"What  isn't  the  matter  with  Hillerton?"  laughed 
the  daughter  again. 

"But  I  thought  we —  we  would  have  lovely  auto 
trips,"  stammered  her  mother  apologetically.  "Take 
them  from  here,  you  know,  and  stay  overnight  at 
hotels  around.  I've  always  wanted  to  do  that;  and 
we  can  now,  dear." 

"Auto  trips!  Pooh!"  shrugged  Elizabeth.  "Why, 
mumsey,  we're  going  to  the  shore  for  July,  and  to  the 
mountains  for  August.  You  and  daddy  and  I.  And 

185 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Fred's  going,  too,  only  he'll  be  at  the  Gaylord  camp 
in  the  Adirondacks,  part  of  the  time." 

"Is  that  true,  Fred?"  James  Blaisdell's  eyes,  fixed 
on  his  son,  were  half  wistful,  half  accusing. 

Fred  stirred  restlessly. 

"Well,  I  sort  of  had  to,  governor,"  he  apologized. 
"Honest,  I  did.  There  are  some  things  a  man  has  to 
do!  Gaylord  asked  me,  and-  Hang  it  all,  I  don't 
see  why  you  have  to  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  commit 
ting  a  crime,  dad ! " 

"You  aren't,  dear,  you  aren't,"  fluttered  Fred's 
mother  hurriedly;  "and  I'm  sure  it's  lovely  you've 
got  the  chance  to  go  to  the  Gaylords'  camp.  And  it 's 
right,  quite  right,  that  we  should  travel  this  summer, 
as  Bessie  —  er  —  Elizabeth  suggests.  I  never  thought; 
but,  of  course,  you  young  people  don't  want  to  be 
hived  up  in  Hillerton  all  summer!" 

"Bet  your  life  we  don't,  mater,"  shrugged  Fred,, 
carefully  avoiding  his  father's  eyes,  "after  all  that 
grind." 

"Grind.  Fred?" 

But  Fred  had  turned  away,  and  did  not,  appar 
ently,  hear  his  father's  grieved  question. 

Mr.  Smith  learned  all  about  the  vacation  plans  a 
day  or  two  later  from  Benny. 

"Yep,  we're  all  goin'  away  for  all  summer,"  he 
repeated,  after  he  had  told  the  destination  of  most  of 
the  family.  "I  don't  think  ma  wants  to,  much,  but 
she's  goin'  on  account  of  Bess.  Besides,  she  says 
everybody  who  is  anybody  always  goes  away  on  vaca 
tions,  of  course.  So  we've  got  to.  They're  goin'  to 
the  beach  first,  and  I'm  goin'  to  a  boys'  camp  up  in 

186 


IN  SEARCH  OF  REST 

Vermont.  Mellicent,  she's  goin'  to  a  girls'  camp.  Did 
you  know  that?" 

Mr.  Smith  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  she  is,"  nodded  Benny.  "She  tried  to  get 
Bess  to  go —  Gussie  Pennock's  goin'.  But  Bess!  — 
my,  you  should  see  her  nose  go  up  in  the  air !  She  said 
she  wa'n't  goin'  where  she  had  to  wear  great  coarse 
shoes  an'  horrid  middy-blouses  all  day,  an'  build  fires 
an'  walk  miles  an'  eat  bugs  an'  grasshoppers." 

"Is  Miss  Mellicent  going  to  do  all  that?"  smiled 
Mr.  Smith. 

"Bess  says  she  is — I  mean,  Elizabeth.  Did  you 
know?  We  have  to  call  her  that  now,  when  we  don't 
forget  it.  I  forget  it,  mostly.  Have  you  seen  her 
since  she  came  back?" 

"No." 

"She's  swingin'  an  awful  lot  of  style — Bess  is. 
She  makes  dad  dress  up  in  his  swallow-tail  every  night 
for  dinner.  An'  she  makes  him  and  Fred  an'  me 
stand  up  the  minute  she  comes  into  the  room,  no  mat 
ter  if  there's  forty  other  chairs  in  sight;  an'  we  have 
to  stay  standin'  till  she  sits  down  —  an'  sometimes 
she  stands  up  a-purpose,  just  to  keep  us  standing.  I 
know  she  does.  She  says  a  gentleman  never  sits  when 
a  lady  is  standin'  up  in  his  presence.  An'  she's  lec- 
turin'  us  all  the  time  on  the  way  to  eat  an'  talk  an' 
act.  Why,  we  can't  even  walk  natural  any  longer. 
An'  she  says  the  way  Katy  serves  our  meals  is  a  dis 
grace  to  any  civilized  family." 

"How  does  Katy  like  that?" 

"Like  it!  She  got  mad  an'  gave  notice  on  the  spot. 
An'  that  made  ma  'most  have  hysterics  —  she  did 

187 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

have  one  of  her  headaches  —  'cause  good  hired  girls 
are  awful  scarce,  she  says.  But  Bess  says,  Pooh!  we 
'11  get  some  from  the  city  next  time  that  know  their 
business,  an'  we're  goin'  away  all  summer,  anyway, 
an'  won't  ma  please  call  them  'maids,'  as  she  ought 
to,  an'  not  that  plebeian  'hired  girl.'  Bess  loves  that 
word.  Everything's  'plebeian'  with  Bess  now.  Oh, 
we're  havin'  great  times  at  our  house  since  Bess  — 
Elizabeth —  came!"  grinned  Benny,  tossing  his  cap  in 
the  air,  and  dancing  down  the  walk  much  as  he  had 
danced  the  first  night  Mr.  Smith  saw  him  a  year  before. 

The  James  Blaisdells  were  hardly  off  to  shore  and 
camp  when  Miss  Flora  started  on  her  travels.  Mr. 
Smith  learned  all  about  her  plans,  too,  for  she  cams 
down  one  day  to  talk  them  over  with  Miss  Maggie. 

Miss  Flora  was  looking  very  well  in  a  soft  gray 
and  white  summer  silk.  Her  forehead  had  lost  its  lines 
of  care,  and  her  eyes  were  no  longer  peering  for 
wrinkles.  Miss  Flora  was  actually  almost  pretty. 

"How  nice  you  look!"  exclaimed  Miss  Maggie. 

"Do  I?"  panted  Miss  Flora,  as  she  fluttered  up  th* 
steps  and  sank  into  one  of  the  porch  chairs. 

"Indeed,  you  do! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith  admiringly^ 
Mr.  Smith  was  putting  up  a  trellis  for  Miss  Maggie\ 
new  rosebush.  He  was  working  faithfully,  but  not 
with  the  skill  of  accustomedness. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  like  it!"  Miss  Flora  settled  back 
into  her  chair  and  smoothed  out  the  ruffles  across  her 
lap.  "It  is  n't  too  gay,  is  it?  You  know  the  six  months 
are  more  than  up  now." 

"Not  a  bit!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith. 

"No,  indeed!"  cried  Miss  Maggie. 

188 


IN  SEARCH  OF  REST 

"I  hoped  it  was  n't,"  sighed  Miss  Flora  happily. 
"Well,  I'm  all  packed  but  my  dresses." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  n't  going  till  Monday," 
said  Miss  Maggie. 

"Oh,  I'm  not." 

"But —  it's  only  Friday  now!" 

Miss  Flora  laughed  shamefacedly. ' 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  suppose  I  am  a  little  ahead  of  time. 
But  you  see,  I  ain't  used  to  packing  —  not  a  big  trunk, 
so  —  and  I  was  so  afraid  I  would  n't  get  it  done  in 
time.  I  was  going  to  put  my  dresses  in;  but  Mis'  Moore 
said  they'd  wrinkle  awfully,  if  I  did,  and,  of  course, 
they  would,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  So  I  shan't 
put  those  in  till  Sunday  night.  I'm  so  glad  Mis' 
Moore 's  going.  It  '11  be  so  nice  to  have  somebody  along 
that  I  know." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie. 

"And  she  knows  everything — all  about  tickets 
and  checking  the  baggage,  and  all  that.  You  know 
we're  only  going  to  be  personally  conducted  to 
Niagara.  After  that  we're  going  to  New  York  and 
stay  two  weeks  at  some  nice  hotel.  I  want  to  see 
Grant's  Tomb  and  the  Aquarium,  and  Mis'  Moore 
wants  to  go  to  Coney  Island.  She  says  she's  always 
wanted  to  go  to  Coney  Island  just  as  I  have  to 
Niagara." 

"I'm  glad  you  can  take  her,"  said  Miss  Maggie 
heartily. 

"Yes,  and  she's  so  pleased.  You  know,  even  if  she 
is  such  a  nice  family,  and  all,  she  has  n't  much  money, 
and  she 's  been  awful  nice  to  me  lately.  I  used  to  think 
she  did  n't  like  me,  too.  But  I  must  have  been  mis- 

189 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

taken,  of  course.  And  't  was  so  with  Mis'  Benson  and 
Mis'  Pennock,  too.  But  now  they've  invited  me  there 
and  have  come  to  see  me,  and  are  so  interested  in  my 
trip  and  all.  Why,  I  never  knew  I  had  so  many  friends, 
Maggie.  Truly  I  did  n't!" 

Miss  Maggie  said  nothing,  but  there  was  an  odd 
expression  on  her  face.  Mr.  Smith  pounded  a  small 
nail  home  with  an  extra  blow  of  his  hammer. 

"And  they're  all  so  kind  and  interested  about  the 
money,  too,"  went  on  Miss  Flora,  gently  rocking  to 
and  fro.  "  Bert  Benson  sells  stocks  and  invests  money 
for  folks,  you  know,  and  Mis'  Benson  said  he'd  got 
some  splendid-payin'  ones,  and  he'd  let  me  have 
some,  and- 

"Flo,  you  did  n't  take  any  of  that  Benson  gold-mine 
stock!"  interrupted  Miss  Maggie  sharply. 

Mr.  Smith's  hammer  stopped,  suspended  in  mid-air. 

"No;  oh,  no!  I  asked  Mr.  Chalmers  and  he  said 
better  not.  So  I  didn't."  Miss  Maggie  relaxed  in 
her  chair,  and  Mr.  Smith's  hammer  fell  with  a  gentle 
tap  on  the  nail-head.  "But  I  felt  real  bad  about  it  — 
when  Mis'  Benson  had  been  so  kind  as  to  offer  it,  you 
know.  It  looked  sort  of  —  of  ungrateful,  so." 

"Ungrateful!"  Miss  Maggie's  voice  vibrated  with 
indignant  scorn.  "  Flora,  you  won't  —  you  won't  invest 
your  money  without  asking  Mr.  Chalmers's  advice 
first,  will  you?" 

"But  I  tell  you  I  did  n't,"  retorted  Miss  Flora,  with 
unusual  sharpness,  for  her.  "But  it  was  good  stock, 
and  it  pays  splendidly.  Jane  took  some.  She  took 
a  lot." 

"Jane!  —  but  I  thought  Frank  would  n't  let  her." 

190 


"Oh,  Frank  said  all  right,  if  she  wanted  to,  she 
might.  I  suspect  he  got  tired  of  her  teasing,  and  it  did 
pay  splendidly.  Why,  't  will  pay  twenty-five  per  cent, 
probably,  this  year,  Mis'  Benson  says.  So  Frank  give 
in.  You  see,  he  felt  he'd  got  to  pacify  Jane  some 
way,  I  s'pose,  she's  so  cut  up  about  his  selling 
out." 

"Selling  out!"  exclaimed  Miss  Maggie. 

"Oh,  did  n't  you  know  that?  Well,  then  I  have  got 
some  news!  "  Miss  Flora  gave  the  satisfied  little  wrig 
gle  with  which  a  born  news-lover  always  prefaces 
her  choicest  bit  of  information.  "Frank  has  sold  his 
grocery  stores  —  both  of  'em." 

"Why,  I  can't  believe  it!"  Mjss  Maggie  fell  back 
with  a  puzzled  frown. 

"Sold  them!  Why,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  his  — 
his  selling  himself,"  cried  Mr.  Smith.  "I  thought  they 
were  inseparable." 

"  Well,  they  ain't  —  because  he  's  separated  *em." 
Miss  Flora  was  rocking  a  little  faster  now. 

"But  why?"  demanded  Miss  Maggie. 

"He  says  he  wants  a  rest.  That  he's  worked  hard 
all  his  life,  and  it's  time  he  took  some  comfort.  He 
says  he  does  n't  take  a  minute  of  comfort  now  'cause 
Jane's  hounding  him  all  the  time  to  get  more  money, 
to  get  more  money.  She's  crazy  to  see  the  interest 
mount  up,  you  know  —  Jane  is.  But  he  says  he  don't 
want  any  more  money.  He  wants  to  spend  money  for 
a  while.  And  he's  going  to  spend  it.  He's  going  to 
retire  from  business  and  enjoy  himself." 

"Well,"  ejaculated  Mr.  Smith,  "this  is  a  piece  of 
news,  indeed!" 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I  should  say  it  was,"  cried  Miss  Maggie,  still  al 
most  incredulous.  "How  does  Jane  take  it?" 

"Oh,  she's  turribly  fussed  up  over  it,  as  you'd 
know  she  would  be.  Such  a  good  chance  wasted,  she 
thinks,  when  he  might  be  making  all  that  money 
earn  more.  You  know  Jane  wants  to  turn  everything 
into  money  now.  Honestly,  Maggie,  I  don't  believe 
Jane  can  look  at  the  moon  nowadays  without  wish 
ing  it  was  really  gold,  and  she  had  it  to.'  put  out  to 
interest!" 

"Oh,  Flora!"  remonstrated  Miss  Maggie  faintly. 

"Well,  it's  so,"  maintained  Miss  Flora.  "So  't 
ain't  any  wonder,  of  course,  that  she 's  upset  over  this. 
That's  why  Frank  give  in  to  her,  I  think,  and  let  her 
buy  that  Benson  stock.  Besides,  he 's  feeling  especially 
flush,  because  he's  got  the  cash  the  stores  brought, 
too.  So  he  told  her  to  go  ahead." 

"I'm  sorry  about  that  stock,"  frowned  Miss  Maggie. 

"Oh,  it's  perfectly  safe.  Mis'  Benson  said  't  was," 
comforted  Miss  Flora.  "You  needn't  worry  about 
that.  And  't  will  pay  splendid." 

"When  did  this  happen —  the  sale  of  the  store,  I 
mean?"  asked  Mr.  Smith.  Mr.  Smith  was  not  even 
pretending  to  work  now. 

"Yesterday —  the  finish  of  it.  I'm  waiting  to  see 
Hattie.  She'll  be  tickled  to  death.  She's  always  hated 
it  that  Frank  had  a  grocery  store,  you  know;  and  since 
the  money's  come,  and  she's  been  going  with  the 
Gaylords  and  the  Pennocks,  and  all  that  crowd,  she 's 
felt  worse  than  ever.  She  was  saying  to  me  only  last 
week  how  ashamed  she  was  to  think  that  her  friends 
might  see  her  own  brother-in-law  any  day  wearing 

192 


IN  SEARCH  OF  REST 

that  horrid  white  coat,  and  selling  molasses  over  the 
counter.  My,  but  Hattie'll  be  tickled  all  right —  or 
*  Harriet,'  I  suppose  I  should  say,  but  I  never  can 
remember  it." 

"But  what  is  Frank  going  to  —  to  do  with  himself  ? " 
demanded  Miss  Maggie.  "Why,  Flora,  he'll  be  lost 
without  that  grocery  store!'* 

"Oh,  he's  going  to  travel,  first.  He  says  he  always 
wanted,  to,  and  he's  got  a  chance  now,  and  he's  going 
to.  They  're  going  to  the  Yellowstone  Park  and  the 
Garden  of  'the  Gods  and  to  California.  And  that's 
another  thing  that  worries  Jane  —  spending  all  that 
money  for  them  just  to  ride  in  the  cars." 

"Is  she  going,  too?"  queried  Mr.  Smith. 

"Oh,  yes,  she's  going,  too.  She  says  she's  got  to  go 
to  keep  Frank  from  spending  every  cent  he's  got," 
laughed  Miss  Flora.  "I  was  over  there  last  night,  and 
they  told  me  all  about  it." 

"When  do  they  go?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  they  can  get  ready.  Frank's  got 
to  help  Donovan,  the  man  that's  bought  the  store,  a 
week  till  he  gets  the  run  of  things,  he  says.  Then  he 's 
going.  |You  wait  till  you  see  him."  Miss  Flora  got 
to  her  feet,  and  smoothed  out  the  folds  of  her  skirt. 
"He's  as  tickled  as  a  boy  with  a  new  jack-knife.  And 
I'm  glad.  Frank  has  been  a  turrible  hard  worker  all 
his  life.  I'm  glad  he's  going  to  take  some  comfort, 
same  as  I  am." 

When  Miss  Flora  had  gone,  Miss  Maggie  turned  to 
Mr.  Smith  with  eyes  that  still  carried  dazed  unbelief. 

"Did  Flora  say  that  Frank  Blaisdell  had  sold  his 
grocery  stores?" 

193 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"She  certainly  did!   You  seem  surprised." 

"I'm  more  than  surprised.   I'm  dumfounded." 

"Why?  You  don't  think,  like  Mrs.  Jane,  that  he 
ought  not  to  enjoy  his  money,  certainly?  " 

"Oh,  no.  He's  got  money  enough  to  retire,  if  he 
wants  to,  and  he's  certainly  worked  hard  enough  to 
earn  a  rest." 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  a  little. 

"I'm  not  sure  I  can  explain.  But,  to  me,  it's  just 
this :  while  he 's  got  plenty  to  retire  upon,  he  has  n't 
got  anything  to  —  to  retire  to." 

"And,  pray,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Smith,  I've  known  that  man  from  the 
time  he  was  trading  jack-knives  and  marbles  and  sell 
ing  paper  boxes  for  five  pins.  I  remember  the  whipping 
he  got,  too,  for  filching  sugar  and  coffee  and  beans 
from  the  pantry  and  opening  a  grocery  store  in  our 
barn.  From  that  time  to  this,  that  boy  has  always 
been  trading  something.  He's  been  absolutely  unin 
terested  in  anything  else.  I  don't  believe  he's  read 
a  book  or  a  magazine  since  his  school  days,  unless  it 
had  something  to  do  with  business  or  groceries.  He 
has  n't  a  sign  of  a  fad  —  music,  photography,  collect 
ing  things  —  nothing.  And  he  hates  society.  Jane  has 
to  fairly  drag  him  out  anywhere.  Now,  what  I  want 
to  know  is,  what  is  the  man  going  to  do?" 

"Oh,  he'll  find  something,"  laughed  Mr.  Smith. 
"He's  going  to  travel,  first,  anyhow." 

"Yes,  he's  going  to  travel,  first.  And  then  —  we'll 
see,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie  enigmatically,  as  Mr.  Smith 
picked  up  his  hammer  again. 

J84 


IN  SEARCH  OF  REST 

By  the  middle  of  July  the  Blaisdells  were  all  gone 
from  Hillerton,  and  there  remained  only  their  letters 
for  Miss  Maggie  —  and  for  Mr.  Smith.  Miss  Maggie 
was  very  generous  with  her  letters.  Perceiving  Mr. 
Smith's  genuine  interest,  she  read  him  extracts  from 
almost  every  one  that  came.  And  the  letters  were 
always  interesting  —  and  usually  characteristic. 

Benny  wrote  of  swimming  and  tennis  matches,  and 
of  "hikes"  and  the  "bully  eats."  Hattie  wrote  of 
balls  and  gowns  and  the  attention  "dear  Elizabeth" 
was  receiving  from  some  really  very  nice  families  who 
were  said  to  be  fabulously  rich.  Neither  James  nor 
Bessie  wrote  at  all.  Fred,  too,  remained  unheard 
from. 

Mellicent  wrote  frequently  —  gay,  breezy  letters 
full  to  the  brim  of  the  joy  of  living.  She  wrote  of  ten 
nis,  swimming,  camp-fire  stories,  and  mountain  trails: 
they  were  like  Benny's  letters  in  petticoats,  Miss 
Maggie  said. 

Long  and  frequent  epistles  came  from  Miss  Flora. 
Miss  Flora  was  having  a  beautiful  time.  Niagara  was 
perfectly  lovely —  only  what  a  terrible  noise  it  made! 
She  was  glad  she  did  not  have  to  stay  and  hear  it  al 
ways.  She  liked  New  York,  only  that  was  noisy,  too, 
though  Mrs.  Moore  did  not  seem  to  mind  it.  Mrs. 
Moore  liked  Coney  Island,  too,  but  Miss  Flora  much 
preferred  Grant's  Tomb,  she  said.  It  was  so  much 
more  quiet  and  ladylike.  She  thought  some  things  at 
Coney  Island  were  really  not  nice  at  all,  and  she  was 
surprised  that  Mrs.  Moore  should  enjoy  them  so 
much. 

Between  the  lines  it  could  be  seen  that  in  spite  of 

195 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

all  the  good  times,  Miss  Flora  was  becoming  just  the 
least  bit  homesick.  She  wrote  Miss  Maggie  that  it 
did  seem  queer  to  go  everywhere,  and  not  see  a  soul 
to  bow  to.  It  gave  her  such  a  lonesome  feeling  — 
such  a  lot  of  faces,  and  not  one  familiar  one!  She  had 
tried  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  several  people  — 
real  nice  people;  she  knew  they  were  by  the  way  they 
looked.  But  they  would  n't  say  hardly  anything  to 
her,  nor  answer  her  questions;  and  they  always  got 
up  and  moved  away  very  soon. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  one  nice  young  man.  He  was 
.lovely  to  them,  Miss  Flora  said.  He  spoke  to  them 
first,  too.  It  was  when  they  were  down  to  Coney 
Island.  He  helped  them  through  the  crowds,  and  told 
them  about  lots  of  nice  things  they  did  n't  want  to 
miss  seeing.  He  walked  with  them,  too,  quite  awhile, 
showing  them  the  sights.  He  was  very  kind  —  he 
seemed  so  especially  kind,  after  all  those  other  cold- 
hearted  people,  who  did  n't  care!  That  was  the  day 
she  and  Mrs.  Moore  both  lost  their  pocketbooks,  and 
had  such  an  awful  time  getting  back  to  New  York. 
It  was  right  after  they  had  said  good-bye  to  the  nice 
young  gentleman  that  they  discovered  that  they  had 
lost  them.  They  were  so  sorry  that  they  had  n't  found 
it  out  before,  Miss  Flora  said,  for  he  would  have  helped 
them,  she  was  sure.  But  though  they  looked  every 
where  for  him,  they  could  not  find  him  at  all,  and  they 
had  to  appeal  to  strangers,  who  took  them  right  up  to 
a  policeman  the  first  thing,  which  was  very  embarrass 
ing,  Miss  Flora  said.  Why,  she  and  Mrs.  Moore  felt 
as  if  they  had  been  arrested,  almost! 

Miss  Maggie  pursed  her  lips  a  little,  when  she 

196 


IN  SEARCH  OF  REST 

read   this   letter   to  Mr.   Smith,  but   she  made  no 
comment. 

From  Jane,  also,  came  several  letters,  and  from 
Frank  Blaisdell  one  short  scrawl. 

Frank  said  he  was  having  a  bully  time,  but  that 
he'd  seen  some  of  the  most  shiftless-looking  grocery 
stores  that  he  ever  set  eyes  on.  He  asked  if  Maggie 
knew  how  trade  was  at  his  old  store,  and  if  Donovan 
was  keeping  it  up  to  the  mark.  He  said  that  Jane  was 
well,  only  she  was  getting  pretty  tired  because  she 
would  try  to  see  everything  at  once,  for  fear  she  'd  lose 
something,  and  not  get  her  money's  worth,  for  all  the 
world  just  as  she  used  to  eat  things  to  save  them. 

Jane  wrote  that  she  was  having  a  very  nice  time, 
of  course,  —  she  could  n't  help  it,  with  all  those  lovely 
things  to  see;  but  she  said  she  never  dreamed  that 
just  potatoes,  meat,  and  vegetables  could  cost  so  much 
anywhere  as  they  did  in  hotels,  and  as  for  the  prices 
those  dining-cars  charged  —  it  was  robbery  —  sheer 
robbery!  And  why  an  able-bodied  man  should  be 
given  ten  cents  every  time  he  handed  you  your  own 
hat,  she  could  n't  understand. 

At  Hillerton,  Mr.  Smith  passed  a  very  quiet  sum 
mer,  but  a  very  contented  one.  He  kept  enough  work 
ahead  to  amuse  him,  but  never  enough  to  drive  him. 
He  took  frequent  day-trips  to  the  surrounding  towns, 
and  when  possible  he  persuaded  Miss  Maggie  to  go 
with  him.  Miss  Maggie  was  wonderfully  good  com 
pany.  As  the  summer  advanced,  however,  he  did  not 
see  so  much  of  her  as  he  wanted  to,  for  Father  Duff's 
increasing  infirmities  made  more  and  more  demands 
on  her  time. 

197 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

The  Martin  girls  were  still  there.  Annabelle  was 
learning  the  milliner's  trade,  and  Florence  had  taken 
a  clerkship  for  afternoons  during  the  summer.  They 
still  helped  about  the  work,  and  relieved  Miss  Maggie 
whenever  possible.  They  were  sensible,  jolly  girls,  and 
Mr.  Smith  liked  them  very  much. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   FLY   IN   THE   OINTMENT 

IN  August  Father  Duff  died.  Miss  Flora  came  home 
at  once.  James  Blaisdell  was  already  in  town.  Hattie 
was  at  the  mountains.  She  wrote  that  she  could  not 
think  of  coming  down  for  the  funeral,  but  she  ordered 
an  expensive  wreath.  Frank  and  Jane  were  in  the  Far 
West,  and  could  not  possibly  have  arrived  in  time, 
anyway.  None  of  the  young  people  came. 

Mr.  Smith  helped  in  every  way  that  he  could  help, 
and  Miss  Maggie  told  him  that  he  was  a  great  com 
fort,  and  that  she  did  not  know  what  she  would  have 
done  without  him.  Miss  Flora  and  Mr.  James  Blaisdell 
helped,  too,  in  every  way  possible,  and  at  last  the  first 
hard  sad  days  were  over,  and  the  household  had  set 
tled  back  into  something  like  normal  conditions  again. 

Miss  Maggie  had  more  time  now,  and  she  went 
often  to  drive  or  for  motor  rides  with  Mr.  Smith. 
Together  they  explored  cemeteries  for  miles  around; 
and  although  Miss  Maggie  worried  sometimes  be 
cause  they  found  so  little  Blaisdell  data,  Mr.  Smith 
did  not  seem  to  mind  it  at  all. 

In  September  Miss  Flora  moved  into  an  attrac 
tive  house  on  the  West  Side,  bought  some  new  furni 
ture,  and  installed  a  maid  in  the  kitchen  —  all  under 
Miss  Maggie's  kindly  supervision.  In  September,  too, 
Frank  and  Jane  Blaisdell  came  home,  and  the  young 
people  began  to  prepare  for  the  coming  school  year. 

199 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Mr.  Smith  met  Mrs.  Hattie  one  day,  coming  out 
of  Miss  Maggie's  gate.  She  smiled  and  greeted  him 
cordially,  but  she  looked  so  palpably  upset  over  some 
thing  that  he  exclaimed  to  Miss  Maggie,  as  soon  as 
he  entered  the  house:  "What  was  it?  Is  anything  the 
matter  with  Mrs.  James  Blaisdell?" 

Miss  Maggie  smiled  —  but  she  frowned,  too. 

"No,  oh,  no — except  that  Hattie  has  discovered 
that  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  is  n't  a  million." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Oh,  where  she's  been  this  summer  she's  measured 
up,  of  course,  with  people  a  great  deal  richer  than 
she.  And  she  does  n't  like  it.  Here  in  Hillerton  her 
hundred-  and  two-hundred-dollar  dresses  looked  very 
grand  to  her,  but  she's  discovered  that  there  are 
women  who  pay  five  hundred  and  a  thousand,  and 
even  more.  She  feels  very  cheap  and  poverty-stricken 
now,  therefore,  in  her  two-hundred-dollar  gowns. 
Poor  Hattie!  If  she  only  would  stop  trying  to  live  like 
somebody  else!" 

"But  I  thought —  I  thought  this  money  was  mak 
ing  them  happy,"  stammered  Mr.  Smith. 

"It  was — until  she  realized  that  somebody  else 
had  more,"  sighed  Miss  Maggie,  with  a  shake  of  her 
head. 

"Oh,  well,  she'll  get  over  that." 

"Perhaps." 

"At  any  rate,  it's  brought  her  husband  some  com 
fort." 

"Y-yes,  it  has;  but  —  " 

"WThat  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  demanded,  when 
she  did  not  finish  her  sentence. 

200 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

"I  was  wondering — if  it  would  bring  him  any 
more." 

"They  have  n't  lost  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  but  they've  spent  a  lot —  and  Hattie  is 
beginning  again  her  old  talk  that  she  must  have  more 
money  in  order  to  live  'even  decent.'  It  sounds  very 
familiar  to  me,  and  to  Jim,  I  suspect,  poor  fellow.  I 
saw  him  the  other  night,  and  from  what  he  said,  and 
what  she  says,  I  can  see  pretty  well  how  things  are 
going.  She's  trying  to  get  some  of  her  rich  friends 
to  give  Jim  a  better  position,  where  he'll  earn  more. 
She  does  n't  understand,  either,  why  Jim  can't  go 
into  the  stock  market  and  make  millions,  as  some 
men  do.  I  'm  afraid  she  is  n't  always  —  patient.  She 
says  there  are  Fred  and  Elizabeth  and  Benjamin  to 
educate,  and  that  she's  just  got  to  have  more  money 
to  tide  them  over  till  the  rest  of  the  legacy  comes." 

"The  rest  of  the  legacy!"  exploded  Mr.   Smith. 
"Good  Heavens,  does  that  woman  think  that  — 
Mr.  Smith  stopped  with  the  air  of  one  pulling  himself 
back  from  an  abyss. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  exclaim.  It  is  funny — the 
way  she  takes  that  for  granted,  is  n't  it?  Still,  there 
are  grounds  for  it,  of  course." 

"Oh,  are  there?  Do  you  think—  she'll  get  more, 
then?"  demanded  Mr.  Smith,  almost  savagely. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  again. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  To  my  mind  the 
whole  thing  was  rather  extraordinary,  anyway,  that  he 
should  have  given  them  anything  —  utter  strangers 
as  they  were.  Still,  as  Hattie  says,  as  long  as  he 

201 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

has  recognized  their  existence,  why,  he  may  again,  of 
course.  Still,  on  the  other  hand,  he  may  have  very 
reasonably  argued  that,  having  willed  them  a  hundred 
thousand  apiece,  that  was  quite  enough,  and  he'd  give 
the  rest  somewhere  else." 

"Humph!  Maybe,"  grunted  Mr.  Smith. 

"And  he  may  come  back  alive  from  South  America." 

"He  may." 

"But  Hattie  is  n't  counting  on  either  of  these  con 
tingencies,  and  she  is  counting  on  the  money,"  sighed 
Miss  Maggie,  sobering  again.  "  And  Jim,  —  poor  Jim ! 
—  I'm  afraid  he's  going  to  find  it  just  as  hard  to  keep 
caught  up  now  —  as  he  used  to." 

"Humph!"  Mr.  Smith  frowned.  He  did  not  speak 
again.  He  stood  looking  out  of  the  window,  apparently 
in  deep  thought. 

Miss  Maggie,  with  another  sigh,  turned  and  went 
out  into  the  kitchen. 

The  next  day,  on  the  street,  Mr.  Smith  met  Melli- 
cent  Blaisdell.  She  was  with  a  tall,  manly-looking, 
square- jawed  young  fellow  whom  Mr.  Smith  had 
never  seen  before.  Mellicent  smiled  and  blushed  ador 
ably.  Then,  to  his  surprise,  she  stopped  him  with  a 
gesture. 

"Mr.  Smith,  I  know  it's  on  the  street,  but  I —  I 
want  Mr.  Gray  to  meet  you,  and  I  want  you  to  meet 
Mr.  Gray.  Mr.  Smith  is  —  is  a  very  good  friend  of 
mine,  Donald." 

Mr.  Smith  greeted  Donald  Gray  with  a  warm  hand 
shake  and  a  keen  glance  into  his  face.  The  blush,  the 
hesitation,  the  shy  happiness  in  Mellicent's  eyes  had 
been  unmistakable.  Mr.  Smith  felt  suddenly  that  Don- 

202 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

aid  Gray  was  a  man  he  very  much  wanted  to  know  — 
a  good  deal  about.  He  chatted  affably  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  went  home  and  straight  to  Miss  Maggie. 

"Who's  Donald  Gray,  please?"  he  demanded. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  and  threw  up  her  hands. 

"Oh,  these  children!" 

"But  who  is  he?" 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  he's  devoted  to  Mellicent." 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me  that.  I've  seen  him  — 
and  Mellicent." 

"Oh!"  Miss  Maggie  smiled  appreciatively. 

"What  I  want  to  know  is,  who  is  he?" 

"He's  a  young  man  whom  Mellicent  met  this  sum 
mer.  He  plays  the  violin,  and  Mellicent  played  his 
accompaniments  in  a  church  entertainment.  That's 
where  she  met  him  first.  He's  the  son  of  a  minister 
near  their  camp,  where  the  girls  went  to  church.  He's 
a  fine  fellow,  I  guess.  He's  hard  hit — that's  sure. 
He  came  to  Hillerton  at  once,  and  has  gone  to  work 
in  Hammond's  real  estate  office.  So  you  see  he's  in 
earnest." 

"I  should  say  he  was!  I  liked  his  appearance  very 
much." 

"Yes,  I  did  —  but  her  mother  does  n't." 

"What  do  you  mean?  She  —  objects?" 

"Decidedly!  She  says  he's  worse  than  Carl  Pen- 
nock —  that  he  has  n't  got  any  money,  not  any  money." 

"Money!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Smith,  in  genuine  amaze 
ment.  "You  don't  mean  that  she's  really  letting 
money  stand  in  the  way  if  Mellicent  cares  for  him? 
Why,  it  was  only  a  year  ago  that  she  herself  was 
bitterly  censuring  Mrs.  Pennock  for  doing  exactly  the 

203 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

same  thing  in  the  case  of  young  Pennock  and  Melli- 
cent." 

"I  know,"  nodded  Miss  Maggie.  "But —  she  seems 
to  have  forgotten  that." 

"Shoe  's  on  the  other  foot  this  time." 

"It  seems  to  be." 

"Hm-m!"  muttered  Mr.  Smith. 

"I  don't  think  Jane  has  done  much  yet,  by  way  of 
opposition.  You  see  they  've  only  reached  home,  and 
she's  just  found  out  about  it.  But  she  told  me  she 
shouldn't  let  it  go  on,  not  for  a  moment.  She  has 
other  plans  for  Mellicent." 

"Shall  I  be — meddling  in  what  isn't  my  busi 
ness,  if  I  ask  what  they  are?"  queried  Mr.  Smith  dif 
fidently.  "You  know  I  am  very  much  interested  in 

—  Miss  Mellicent." 

"Not  a  bit.  I'm  glad  to  have  you.  Perhaps  you 
can  suggest  —  a  way  out  for  us,"  sighed  Miss  Maggie. 
"The  case  is  just  this:  Jane  wants  Mellicent  to  marry 
Hibbard  Gaylord." 

"Shucks!  I've  seen  young  Gray  only  once,  but  I'd 
give  more  for  his  little  finger  than  I  would  for  a  cart 
load  of  Gaylords!"  flung  out  Mr.  Smith. 

"So  would  I,"  approved  Miss  Maggie.    "But  Jane 

—  well,  Jane  feels  otherwise.    To  begin  with,  she's 
very  much  flattered  at  Gaylord's  attentions  to  Melli 
cent  —  the  more  so  because  he 's  left  Bessie  —  I  beg 
her  pardon,  'Elizabeth' '-  -  for  her." 

"Then  Miss  Elizabeth  is  in  it,  too?" 

"Very  much  in  it.  That's  one  of  the  reasons  why 
Hattie  is  so  anxious  for  more  money.  She  wants  clothes 
and  jewels  for  Bessie  so  she  can  keep  pace  with  the 

204 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

Gaylords.  You  see  there's  a  wheel  within  a  wheel 
here." 

"I  should  say  there  was!" 

"As  near  as  I  can  judge,  young  Gaylord  is  Bessie's 
devoted  slave —  until  Mellicent  arrives;  then  he  has 
eyes  only  for  her,  which  piques  Bessie  and  her  mother 
not  a  little.  They  were  together  more  or  less  all  sum 
mer,  and  I  think  Hattie  thought  the  match  was  as 
good  as  made.  Now,  once  in  Hillerton,  back  he  flies 
to  Mellicent." 

"And— Mellicent?" 

Miss  Maggie's  eyes  became  gravely  troubled. 

"I  don't  understand  Mellicent.  I  think  —  no,  I 
know  she  cares  for  young  Gray;  but  —  well,  I  might 
as  well  admit  it,  she  is  ready  any  time  to  flirt  out 
rageously  with  Hibbard  Gaylord,  or  —  or  with  any 
body  else,  for  that  matter.  I  saw  her  flirting  with  you 
at  the  party  last  Christmas!"  Miss  Maggie's  face 
showed  a  sudden  pink  blush. 

Mr.  Smith  gave  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  Miss  Maggie.  If  she  '11  flirt  with 
young  Gaylord  and  others,  it 's  all  right.  There 's  safety 
in  numbers,  you  know." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  have  her  flirt  at  all,  Mr.  Smith." 

"It  is  n't  flirting.  It's  just  her  bottled-up  childhood 
and  youth  bubbling  over.  She  can't  help  bubbling, 
she 's  been  repressed  so  long.  She  '11  come  out  all  right, 
and  she  won't  come  out  hand  in  hand  with  Hibbard 
Gaylord.  You  see  if  she  does." 

Miss  Maggie  shook  her  head  and  sighed. 

"You  don't  know  Jane.  Jane  will  never  give  up. 
She'll  be  quiet,  but  she'll  be  firm.  With  one  hand 

205 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

she'll  keep  Gray  away,  and  with  the  other  she'll  push 
Gaylord  forward.  Even  Mellicent  herself  won't  know 
how  it 's  done.  But  it  '11  be  done,  and  I  tremble  for  the 
consequences." 

"Hm-m!"  Mr.  Smith's  eyes  had  lost  their  twinkle 
now.  To  himself  he  muttered:  "I  wonder  if  maybe  — 
I  had  n't  better  take  a  hand  in  this  thing  myself." 

"You  said —  I  did  n't  understand  what  you  said," 
murmured  Miss  Maggie  doubtfully. 

"Nothing — nothing,  Miss  Maggie,"  replied  the 
man.  Then,  with  business-like  alertness,  he  lifted  his 
chin.  " How  long  do  you  say  this  has  been  going  on?" 

"Why,  especially  since  they  all  came  home  two 
weeks  ago.  Jane  knew  nothing  of  Donald  Gray  till 
then." 

"Where  does  Carl  Pennock  come  in?" 

Miss  Maggie  gave  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"Oh,  he  comes  in  anywhere  that  he  can  find  a 
chance;  though,  to  do  her  justice,  Mellicent  does  n't 
give  him  —  many  chances." 

"What  does  her  father  say  to  all  this?  How  does 
he  like  young  Gray?" 

Miss  Maggie  gave  another  gesture  of  despair. 

"He  says  nothing —  or,  rather,  he  laughs,  and  says: 
'Oh,  well,  it  will  come  out  all  right  in  time.  Young 
folks  will  be  young  folks ! ' ' 

"But  does  he  like  Gray?  He  knows  him,  of  course." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  likes  him.  He's  taken  him  to  ride  in 
his  car  once,  to  my  knowledge." 

"His  car!  Then  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  has—  a  car?" 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  just  been  learning  to  run  it.  Jane 
says  he 's  crazy  over  it,  and  that  he 's  teasing  her  to  go 

206 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

all  the  time.  She  says  he  wants  to  be  on  the  move 
somewhere  every  minute.  He's  taken  up  golf,  too. 
Did  you  know  that?" 

"Well,  no,  I— didn't." 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  joined  the  Hillerton  Country  Club, 
and  he  goes  up  to  the  links  every  morning  for  practice." 

"I  can't  imagine  it —  Frank  Blaisdell  spending  his 
mornings  playing  golf!" 

"You  forget,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie.  "Frank  Blais 
dell  is  a  retired  business  man.  He  has  begun  to  take 
some  pleasure  in  life  now." 

"Humph!"  muttered  Mr.  Smith,  as  he  turned  to  go 
into  his  own  room. 

Mr.  Smith  called  on  the  Frank  Blaisdells  that  eve 
ning.  Mr.  Blaisdell  took  him  out  to  the  garage  (very 
lately  a  barn),  and  showed  him  the  shining  new  car. 
He  also  showed  him  his  lavish  supply  of  golf  clubs, 
and  told  him  what  a  "bully  time"  he  was  having  these 
days.  He  told  him,  too,  all  about  his  Western  trip, 
and  said  there  was  nothing  like  travel  to  broaden  a 
man's  outlook.  He  said  a  great  deal  about  how  glad 
he  was  to  get  out  of  the  old  grind  behind  the  counter  — 
but  in  the  next  breath  he  asked  Mr.  Smith  if  he  had 
ever  seen  a  store  run  down  as  his  had  done  since  he 
left  it.  Donovan  did  n't  know  any  more  than  a  cat 
how  such  a  store  should  be  run,  he  said. 

W  hen  they  came  back  from  the  garage  they  found 
callers  in  the  living-rooin.  Carl  Pennock  and  Hibbard 
Gaylord  were  chatting  with  Mellicent.  Almost  at  once 
the  doorbell  rang,  too,  and  Donald  Gray  came  in  with 
his  violin  and  a  roll  of  music.  Mellicent's  mother  came 
in  also.  She  greeted  all  the  young  men  pleasantly,  and 

207 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

asked  Carl  Pennock  to  tell  Mr.  Smith  all  about  his 
fishing  trip.  Then  she  sat  down  by  young  Gray  and 
asked  him  many  questions  about  his  music.  She  was 
50  interested  in  violins,  she  said. 

Gray  waxed  eloquent,  and  seemed  wonderfully 
pleased — for  about  five  minutes;  then  Mr.  Smith 
saw  that  his  glance  was  shifting  more  and  more  fre 
quently  and  more  and  more  unhappily  to  Mellicent 
and  Hibbard  Gaylord,  talking  tennis  across  the  room. 

Mr.  Smith  apparently  lost  interest  in  young  Pen- 
nock's  fish  story  then.  At  all  events,  another  minute 
found  him  eagerly  echoing  Mrs.  Blaisdell's  interest  in 
violins — but  with  this  difference:  violins  in  the  ab 
stract  with  her  became  a  violin  in  the  concrete  with 
him;  and  he  must  hear  it  at  once. 

Mrs.  Jane  herself  could  not  have  told  exactly  how  it 
was  done,  but  she  knew  that  two  minutes  later  young 
Gray  and  Mellicent  were  at  the  piano,  he,  shining- 
eyed  and  happy,  drawing  a  tentative  bow  across  the 
strings:  she,  no  less  shining-eyed  and  happy,  giving 
him  "a"  on  the  piano. 

Mr.  Smith  enjoyed  the  music  very  much  —  so  much 
that  he  begged  for  another  selection  and  yet  another. 
Mr.  Smith  did  not  appear  to  realize  that  Messrs. 
Pennock  and  Gaylord  were  passing  through  sham 
interest  and  frank  boredom  to  disgusted  silence. 
Equally  oblivious  was  he  of  Mrs.  Jane's  efforts  to 
substitute  some  other  form  of  entertainment  for  the 
violin-playing.  He  shook  hands  very  heartily,  how 
ever,  with  Pennock  and  Gaylord  when  they  took  their 
somewhat  haughty  departure,  a  little  later,  and, 
strange  to  say,  his  interest  in  the  music  seemed  to 

208 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

go  with  their  going;  for  at  once  then  he  turned  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Frank  Blaisdell  with  a  very  animated  ac 
count  of  some  Blaisdell  data  he  had  found  only  the 
week  before. 

He  did  not  appear  to  notice  that  the  music  of  the 
piano  had  become  nothing  but  soft  fitful  snatches 
with  a  great  deal  of  low  talk  and  laughter  between. 
He  seemed  interested  only  that  Mr.  Blaisdell,  and 
especially  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  should  know  the  intimate 
history  of  one  Ephraim  Blaisdell,  born  in  1720, 
and  his  ten  children  and  forty-nine  grandchildren. 
He  talked  of  various  investments  then,  and  of  the 
weather.  He  talked  of  the  Blaisdells'  trip,  and  of  the 
cost  of  railroad  fares  and  hotel  life.  He  talked  —  in 
deed,  Mrs.  Jane  told  her  husband  after  he  left  that 
Mr.  Smith  had  talked  of  everything  under  the  sun, 
and  that  she  nearly  had  a  fit  because  she  could  not 
get  one  minute  to  herself  to  break  in  upon  Mellicent 
and  that  horrid  Gray  fellow  at  the  piano.  She  had 
not  supposed  Mr.  Smith  could  talk  like  that.  She 
had  never  remembered  he  was  such  a  talker! 

The  young  people  had  a  tennis  match  on  the  school 
tennis  court  the  next  day.  Mr.  Smith  told  Miss  Maggie 
that  he  thought  he  would  drop  around  there.  He  said 
he  liked  very  much  to  watch  tennis  games. 

Miss  Maggie  said  yes,  that  she  liked  to  watch  tennis 
games,  too.  If  this  was  just  a  wee  bit  of  a  hint,  it  quite 
failed  of  its  purpose,  for  Mr.  Smith  did  not  offer  to 
take  her  with  him.  He  changed  the  subject,  indeed, 
so  abruptly,  that  Miss  Maggie  bit  her  lip  and  flushed 
a  little,  throwing  a  swift  glance  into  his  apparently 
serene  countenance. 

209 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Miss  Maggie  herself,  in  the  afternoon,  with  an  errand 
for  an  excuse,  walked  slowly  by  the  tennis  court.  She 
saw  Mr.  Smith  at  once  —  but  he  did  not  seem  at  all 
interested  in  the  playing.  He  had  his  back  to  the 
court,  in  fact.  He  was  talking  very  animatedly  with 
Mellicent  Blaisdell.  He  was  still  talking  with  her  — 
though  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  court  —  when  Miss 
Maggie  went  by  again  on  her  way  home. 

Miss  Maggie  frowned  and  said  something  just  under 
her  breath  about  "that  child  —  flirting  as  usual!" 
Then  she  went  on,  walking  very  fast,  and  without  an 
other  glance  toward  the  tennis  ground.  But  a  little 
farther  on  Miss  Maggie's  step  lagged  perceptibly,  and 
her  head  lost  its  proud  poise.  Miss  Maggie,  for  a 
reason  she  could  not  have  explained  herself,  was  feel 
ing  suddenly  old,  and  weary,  and  very  much  alone. 

To  the  image  in  the  mirror  as  she  took  off  her  hat  a 
few  minutes  later  in  her  own  hall,  she  said  scornfully: 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  you  feel  old?  You  are  old. 
You  are  old  I "  Miss  Maggie  had  a  habit  of  talking  to 
herself  in  the  mirror  —  but  never  before  had  she  said 
anything  like  this  to  herself. 

An  hour  later  Mr.  Smith  came  home  to  supper. 

"Well,  how  did  the  game  go?  "  queried  Miss  Maggie, 
without  looking  up  from  the  stocking  she  was  mending. 

"Game?  Go?  Oh!  Why,  I  don't  remember  who  did 
win  finally,"  he  answered.  Nor  did  it  apparently  occur 
to  him  that  for  one  who  was  so  greatly  interested  in 
tennis,  he  was  curiously  uninformed. 

It  did  occur  to  Miss  Maggie,  however. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Smith  left  the  house  soon  after 
breakfast,  and,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  did  not 

210 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

mention  where  he  was  going.  Miss  Maggie  was  sur 
prised  and  displeased.  More  especially  was  she  dis 
pleased  because  she  was  displeased.  As  if  it  mattered 
to  her  where  he  went,  she  told  herself  scornfully. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  it  was  much  the  same.  On 
the  third  day  she  saw  Jane. 

"Where's  Mr.  Smith?"  demanded  Jane,  without 
preamble,  glancing  at  the  vacant  chair  by  the  table  in 
the  corner. 

Miss  Maggie,  to  her  disgust,  could  feel  the  color 
burning  in  her  cheeks;  but  she  managed  to  smile  as  if 
amused. 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I'm  not  Mr.  Smith's 
keeper,  Jane." 

"Well,  if  you  were  I  should  ask  you  to  keep  him 
away  from  Mellicent,"  retorted  Mrs.  Jane  tartly. 

"WThat  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  he's  been  hanging  around  Mellicent  almost 
every  day  for  a  week." 

Miss  Maggie  flushed  painfully. 

"Nonsense,  Jane!  He's  more  than  twice  her  age. 
Mr.  Smith  is  fifty  if  he's  a  day." 

"I'm  not  saying  he  is  n't,"  sniffed  Jane,  her 
nose  uptilted.  "But  I  do  say,  'No  fool  like  an  old 
fool'!" 

"Nonsense!"  scorned  Miss  Maggie  again.  "Mr. 
Smith  has  always  been  fond  of  Mellicent,  and  —  and 
interested  in  her.  But  I  don't  believe  he  cares  for  her 
-  that  way." 

"Then  why  does  he  come  to  see  her  and  take  her 
auto-riding,  and  hang  around  her  every  minute  he 
gets  a  chance?"  snapped  Jane.  "I  know  how  he  acts 

211 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

at  the  house,  and  I  hear  he  scarcely  left  her  side  at 
the  tennis  match  the  other  day." 

"  Yes,  I  -  "  Miss  Maggie  did  not  finish  her  sentence. 
A  slow  change  came  to  her  countenance.  The  flush 
receded,  leaving  her  face  a  bit  white. 

"I  wonder  if  the  man  really  thinks  he  stands  any 
chance,"  spluttered  Jane,  ignoring  Miss  Maggie's  un 
finished  sentence.  "Why,  he's  worse  than  that  Don 
ald  Gray.  He  not  only  has  n't  got  the  money,  but 
he's  old,  as  well." 

"Yes,  we're  all  —  getting  old,  Jane."  Miss  Maggie 
tossed  the  words  off  lightly,  and  smiled  as  she  uttered 
them.  But  after  Mrs.  Jane  had  gone,  she  went  to  the 
little  mirror  above  the  mantel  and  gazed  at  herself 
long  and  fixedly. 

"Well,  what  if  he  does?  It's  nothing  to  you,  Maggie 
Duff!"  she  muttered  under  her  breath.  Then  reso 
lutely  she  turned  away,  picked  up  her  work,  and  fell 
to  sewing  very  fast. 

Two  days  later  Mellicent  went  back  to  school. 
Bessie  went,  too.  Fred  and  Benny  had  already  gone. 
To  Miss  Maggie  things  seemed  to  settle  back  into 
their  old  ways  again  then.  With  Mr.  Smith  she  took 
drives  and  motor-rides,  enjoying  the  crisp  October 
air  and  the  dancing  sunlight  on  the  reds  and  browns 
and  yellows  of  the  autumnal  foliage.  True,  she  used 
to  wonder  sometimes  if  the  end  always  justified  the 
means  —  it  seemed  an  expensive  business  to  hire  an 
automobile  to  take  them  fifty  miles  and  back,  and  all 
to  verify  a  single  date.  And  she  could  not  help  noticing 
that  Mr.  Smith  appeared  to  have  many  dates  that 
needed  verifying  —  dates  that  were  located  in  very  di- 

212 


THE  FLY  IN  THE  OINTMENT 

verse  parts  of  the  surrounding  country.  Miss  Maggie 
also  could  not  help  noticing  that  Mr.  Smith  was  get 
ting  very  little  new  material  for  his  Blaisdell  book 
these  days,  though  he  still  worked  industriously  over 
the  old,  retabulating,  and  recopying.  She  knew  this, 
because  she  helped  him  do  it  —  though  she  was  careful 
never  to  let  him  know  that  she  recognized  the  names 
and  dates  as  old  acquaintances. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Miss  Maggie  did  not  like  to  ad 
mit,  even  to  herself,  that  Mr.  Smith  must  be  nearing 
the  end  of  his  task.  She  did  not  like  to  think  of  the 
house  —  after  Mr.  Smith  should  have  gone.  She  told 
herself  that  he  was  just  the  sort  of  homey  boarder  that 
she  liked,  and  she  wished  she  might  keep  him  indefi 
nitely. 

She  thought  so  all  the  more  when  the  long  evenings 
of  November  brought  a  new  pleasure;  Mr.  Smith  fell 
into  the  way  of  bringing  home  books  to  read  aloud; 
and  she  enjoyed  that  very  much.  They  had  long 
talks,  too,  over  the  books  they  read.  In  one  there 
was  an  old  man  who  fell  in  love  with  a  young  girl,  and 
married  her.  Miss  Maggie,  as  certain  parts  of  this 
story  were  read,  held  her  breath,  and  stole  furtive 
glances  into  Mr.  Smith's  face.  When  it  was  finished 
she  contrived  to  question  with  careful  casualness,  as 
to  his  opinion  of  such  a  marriage. 

Mr.  Smith's  answer  was  prompt  and  unequivocal. 
He  said  he  did  not  believe  that  such  a  marriage  should 
take  place,  nor  did  he  believe  that  in  real  life,  it  would 
result  in  happiness.  Marriage  should  be  between 
persons  of  similar  age,  tastes,  and  habits,  he  said 
very  decidedly.  And  Miss  Maggie  blushed  and  said 

213 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

yes,  yes,  indeed !    And  that  night,  when  Miss  Maggie 
gazed  at  herself  in  the  glass,  she  looked  so  happy  - 
that  she  appeared  to  be  almost  as  young  as  Mellicent 
herself! 


CHAPTER  XVH 

AN   AMBASSADOR   OF   CUPID'S 

CHRISTMAS  again  brought  all  the  young  people  home 
for  the  holidays.  It  brought,  also,  a  Christmas  party 
at  James  Blaisdell's  home.  It  was  a  very  different 
party,  however,  from  the  housewarming  of  a  year 
before. 

To  begin  with,  the  attendance  was  much  smaller; 
Mrs.  Hattie  had  been  very  exclusive  in  her  invitations 
this  time.  She  had  not  invited  "everybody  who  ever 
went  anywhere."  There  were  champagne,  and  ciga 
rettes  for  the  ladies,  too. 

As  before,  Mr.  Smith  and  Miss  Maggie  went  to 
gether.  Miss  Maggie,  who  had  not  attended  any  social 
gathering  since  Father  Duff  died,  yielded  to  Mr. 
Smith's  urgings  and  said  that  she  would  go  to  this. 
But  Miss  Maggie  wished  afterward  that  she  had  not 
gone  —  there  were  so  many,  many  features  about  that 
party  that  Miss  Maggie  did  not  like. 

She  did  not  like  the  champagne  nor  the  cigarettes. 
She  did  not  like  Bessie's  showy,  low-cut  dress,  nor  her 
supercilious  airs.  She  did  not  like  the  look  in  Fred's 
eyes,  nor  the  way  he  drank  the  champagne.  She  did 
not  like  Jane's  maneuvers  to  bring  Mellicent  and 
Hibbard  Gaylord  into  each  other's  company  —  nor 
the  way  Mr.  Smith  maneuvered  to  get  Mellicent  for 
himself. 

Of  all  these,  except  the  very  last,  Miss  Maggie 

215 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

talked  with  Mr.  Smith  on  the  way  home  —  yet  it  was 
the  very  last  that  was  uppermost  in  her  mind,  except 
perhaps,  Fred.  She  did  speak  of  Fred;  but  because 
that,  too,  was  so  much  to  her,  she  waited  until  the  last 
before  she  spoke  of  it. 

"You  saw  Fred,  of  course,"  she  began  then. 

"Yes."  Short  as  the  word  was,  it  carried  a  volume 
of  meaning  to  Miss  Maggie's  fearful  ears.  She  turned 
to  him  quickly. 

"Mr.  Smith,  it—  it  is  n't  true,  is  it?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  is." 

"You  saw  him —  drinking,  then?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  some,  and  I  heard —  more.  It's  just 
as  I  feared.  He's  got  in  with  Gaylord  and  the  rest  of 
his  set  at  college,  and  they  're  a  bad  lot  • —  drinking, 
gambling —  no  good." 

"But  Fred  would  n't  —  gamble,  Mr.  Smith!  Oh, 
Fred  would  n't  do  that.  And  he's  so  ambitious  to  get 
ahead!  Surely  he'd  know  he  couldn't  get  anywhere 
in  his  studies,  if —  if  he  drank  and  gambled!" 

"  It  would  seem  so." 

"Did  you  see  his  father?  I  saw  him  only  a  minute 
at  the  first,  and  he  did  n't  look  well  a  bit,  to  me." 

"Yes,  I  saw  him.  I  found  him  in  his  den  just  as  I 
did  last  year.  He  did  n't  look  well  to  me,  either." 

"Did  he  say  anything  about —  Fred?" 

"Not  a  word — and  that's  what  worries  me  the 
most.  Last  year  he  talked  a  lot  about  him,  and  was  so 
proud  and  happy  in  his  coming  success.  This  time 
he  never  mentioned  him;  but  he  looked  —  bad." 

"What  did  he  talk  about?" 

"Oh,  books,  business' —  nothing  in  particular.  And 
210 


AN  AMBASSADOR  OF  CUPID'S 

he  was  n't  interested  in  what  he  did  say.  He  was  very 
different  from  last  year." 

"Yes,  I  know.  He  is  different,'*  sighed  Maggie. 
"He's  talked  with  me  quite  a  lot  about —  about  the 
way  they  're  living.  He  does  n't  like  —  so  much  fuss 
and  show  and  society." 

Mr.  Smith  frowned. 

r  "But  I  thought — Mrs.  Hattie  would  get  over  all 
that  by  this  time,  after  the  newness  of  the  money  was 
worn  off." 

"I  hoped  she  would.  But — she  doesn't.  It's 
worse,  if  anything,"  sighed  Miss  Maggie,  as  they 
ascended  the  steps  at  her  own  door. 

Mr.  Smith  frowned  again. 

"And  Miss  Bessie — "  he  began  disapprovingly, 
then  stopped.  "Now,  Miss  Mellicent  —  "  he  resumed, 
in  a  very  different  voice. 

But  Miss  Maggie  was  not  apparently  listening. 
With  a  rather  loud  rattling  of  the  doorknob  she  was 
pushing  open  the  door. 

"Why,  how  hot  it  is!  Did  I  leave  that  damper 
open?"  she  cried,  hurrying  into  the  living-room. 

And  Mr.  Smith,  hurrying  after,  evidently  forgot  to 
finish  his  sentence. 

Miss  Maggie  did  not  attend  any  more  of  the  merry 
makings  of  that  holiday  week.  But  Mr.  Smith  did. 
It  seemed  to  Miss  Maggie,  indeed,  that  Mr.  Smith 
was  away  nearly  every  minute  of  that  long  week  — 
and  it  was  a  long  week  to  Miss  Maggie.  Even  the 
Martin  girls  were  away  many  of  the  evenings.  Miss 
Maggie  told  herself  that  that  was  why  the  house 
seemed  so  lonesome. 

217 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

But  though  Miss  Maggie  did  not  participate  in  the 
gay  doings,  she  heard  of  them.  She  heard  of  them  on 
all  sides,  except  from  Mr.  Smith  —  and  on  all  sides 
she  heard  of  the  devotion  of  Mr.  Smith  to  Miss  Mel- 
licent.  She  concluded  that  this  was  the  reason  why 
Mr.  Smith  himself  was  so  silent. 

Miss  Maggie  was  shocked  and  distressed.  She  was 
also  very  much  puzzled.  She  had  supposed  that  Mr. 
Smith  understood  that  Mellicent  and  young  Gray 
cared  for  each  other,  and  she  had  thought  that  Mr. 
Smith  even  approved  of  the  affair  between  them.  Now, 
to  push  himself  on  the  scene  in  this  absurd  fashion, 
and  try  "to  cut  everybody  out,"  as  it  was  vulgarly 
termed  —  she  never  would  have  believed  it  of  Mr. 
Smith  in  the  world.  And  she  was  disappointed,  too. 
She  liked  Mr.  Smith  very  much.  She  had  considered 
him  to  be  a  man  of  good  sense  and  good  judgment. 
And  had  he  not  himself  said,  not  so  long  ago,  that  he 
believed  lovers  should  be  of  the  same  age,  tastes,  and 
habits?  And  yet,  here  now  he  was  — 

And  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  Everybody 
was  saying  the  same  thing.  The  Martin  girls  brought 
it  home  as  current  gossip.  Jane  was  highly  exercised 
over  it,  and  even  Harriet  had  exclaimed  over  the 
"shameful  flirtation  Mellicent  was  carrying  on  with 
that  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father!"  No,  there 
was  no  mistake.  Besides,  did  she  not  see  with  her  own 
eyes  that  Mr.  Smith  was  gone  every  day  and  evening, 
and  that,  when  he  was  at  home  at  meal-time,  he  was 
silent  and  preoccupied,  and  not  like  himself  at  all? 

And  it  was  such  a  pity  —  she  had  thought  so  much 
of  Mr.  Smith!  It  really  made  her  feel  quite  ill. 

218 


AN  AMBASSADOR  OF  CUPID'S 

And  Miss  Maggie  looked  ill  on  the  last  evening  of 
that  holiday  week  when,  at  nine  o'clock,  Mr.  Smith 
found  her  sitting  idle-handed  before  the  stove  in  the 
living-room. 

"Why,  Miss  Maggie,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 
cried  the  man,  in  very  evident  concern.  "You  don't 
look  like  yourself  to-night!" 

Miss  Maggie  pulled  herself  up  hastily. 

"Nonsense!  I — I'm  perfectly  well.  I'm  just  — 
tired,  I  guess.  You're  home  early,  Mr.  .Smith."  In 
spite  of  herself  Miss  Maggie's  voice  carried  a  tinge  of 
something  not  quite  pleasant. 

Mr.  Smith,  however,  did  not  appear  to  notice  it. 

"Yes,  I'm  home  early  for  once,  thank  Heaven!" 
he  half  groaned,  as  he  dropped  himself  into  a  chair. 

"It  has  been  a  strenuous  week  for  you,  has  n't  it?" 
Again  the  tinge  of  something  not  quite  pleasant  in 
Miss  Maggie's  voice. 

"Yes,  but  it's  been  worth  it." 

"Of  course!" 

Mr.  Smith  turned  deliberately  and  looked  at  Miss 
Maggie.  There  was  a  vague  questioning  in  his  eyes. 
Obtaining,  apparently,  however,  no  satisfactory  answer 
from  Miss  Maggie's  placid  countenance,  he  turned 
away  and  began  speaking  again. 

"Well,  anyway,  I've  accomplished  what  I  set  out 
to  do." 

"You — you've  already  accomplished  it?"  faltered 
Miss  Maggie.  She  was  gazing  at  him  now  with  star 
tled,  half-frightened  eyes. 

"Yes.  Why,  Miss  Maggie,  what's  the  matter? 
What  makes  you  look  so —  so  queer?" 

219 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Queer?  Nonsense!  Why,  nothing — nothing  at 
all,"  laughed  Miss  Maggie  nervously,  but  very  gayly. 
"I  may  have  been  a  little —  surprised,  for  a  moment; 
but  I  'm  very  glad  —  very." 

"Glad?" 

"Why,  yes,  for — for  you.  Isn't  one  always  glad 
when —  when  a  love  affair  is —  is  all  settled?" 

"Oh,  then  you  suspected  it."  Mr.  Smith  smiled 
pleasantly,  but  without  embarrassment.  "It  doesn't 
matter,  of  course,  only  —  well,  I  had  hoped  it  was  n't 
too  conspicuous." 

"Oh,  but  you  could  n't  expect  to  hide  a  thing  like 
that,  Mr.  Smith,"  retorted  Miss  Maggie,  with  what 
was  very  evidently  intended  for  an  arch  smile.  "I 
heard  it  everywhere —  everywhere." 

"The  mischief  you  did!"  frowned  Mr.  Smith,  look 
ing  slightly  annoyed.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  couldn't 
expect  to  keep  a  thing  like  that  entirely  in  the  dark. 
Still,  I  don't  believe  the  parties  themselves — quite 
understood.  Of  course,  Pennock  and  Gaylord  knew 
that  they  were  kept  effectually  away,  but  I  don't  be 
lieve  they  realized  just  how  systematically  it  was  done. 
Of  course,  Gray  understood  from  the  first." 

"Poor  Mr.  Gray!  I —  I  can't  help  being  sorry  for 
him." 

"Som/forhim!" 

"Certainly;  and  I  should  think  you  might  give  him 
a  little  sympathy,"  rejoined  Miss  Maggie  spiritedly. 
"You  know  how  much  he  cared  for  Mellicent." 

Mr.  Smith  sat  suddenly  erect  in  his  chair. 

"Cared  for  her!  Sympathy!  Why,  what  in  the 
world  are  you  talking  about?  Wasn't  I  doing  the 

220 


AN  AMBASSADOR  OF  CUPID'S 

best  I  could  for  them  all  the  time?  Of  course,  it  kept 
him  away  from  her,  too,  just  as  it  did  Pennock  and 
Gaylord;  but  he  understood.  Besides,  he  had  her  part 
of  the  time.  I  let  him  in  whenever  it  was  possible." 

"Let  him  in!"  Miss  Maggie  was  sitting  erect  now. 
"Whatever  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  were  doing  this  for  Mr.  Gray, 
all  the  time?" 

"Why,  of  course!  Whom  else  should  I  do  it  for? 
You  did  n't  suppose  it  was  for  Pennock  or  Gaylord, 
did  you?  Nor  for  — "  He  stopped  short  and  stared 
at  Miss  Maggie  in  growing  amazement  and  dismay. 
"You  did  n't —  you  did  n't  think —  I  was  doing  that 
—  for  myself?" 

"Well,  of  course,  I — I — "  Miss  Maggie  was 
laughing  and  blushing  painfully,  but  there  was  a  new 
light  in  her  eyes.  "Well,  anyway,  everybody  said  you 
were!"  she  defended  herself  stoutly. 

"Oh,  good  Heavens!"  Mr.  Smith  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  as  he  took  a 
nervous  turn  about  the  room.  "For  myself,  indeed! 
as  if,  in  my  position,  I'd —  How  perfectly  absurd!" 
He  wheeled  and  faced  her  irritably.  "And  you  be 
lieved  that?  Why,  I'm  not  a  marrying  man.  I  don't 
like  —  I  never  saw  the  woman  yet  that  I  —  "  With 
his  eyes  on  Miss  Maggie's  flushed,  half -averted  face, 
he  stopped  again  abruptly.  "Well,  I'll  be  —  "  Even 
under  his  breath  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence;  but, 
with  a  new,  quite  different  expression  on  his  face,  he 
resumed  his  nervous  pacing  of  the  room,  throwing 
now  and  then  a  quick  glance  at  Miss  Maggie's  still 
averted  face. 

221 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"It  was  absurd,  of  course,  was  n't  it?"  Miss  Maggie 
stirred  and  spoke  lightly,  with  the  obvious  intention 
of  putting  matters  back  into  usual  conditions  again. 
"But,  come,  tell  me,  just  what  did  you  do,  and  how? 
I'm  so  interested —  indeed,  I  am!" 

"Eh?  What?"  Mr.  Smith  spoke  as  if  he  was  think 
ing  of  something  else  entirely.  "Oh — that."  Mr.  Smith 
sat  down,  but  he  did  not  go  on  speaking  at  once.  His 
eyes  frowningly  regarded  the  stove. 

"You  said  —  you  kept  Pennock  and  Gaylord  away," 
Miss  Maggie  hopefully  reminded  him. 

"Er — yes.  Oh,  I — it  was  really  very  simple  — 
I  just  monopolized  Mellicent  myself,  when  I  could  n't 
let  Donald  have  her.  That 'sail.  I  saw  very  soon  that 
she  could  n't  cope  with  her  mother  alone.  And  Gay- 
lord —  well,  I've  no  use  for  that  young  gentleman." 
"But  you  like—  Donald?" 

"Very  much.    I've  been  looking  him  up  for  some 
time.  He's  all  right." 
"I'm  glad." 

"Yes."  Mr.  Smith  spoke  abstractedly,  without  en 
thusiasm.  Plainly  Mr.  Smith  was  still  thinking  of 
something  else. 

Miss  Maggie  asked  other  questions  —  Miss  Maggie 
was  manifestly  interested  —  and  Mr.  Smith  answered 
them,  but  still  without  enthusiasm.  Very  soon  he  said 
good-night  and  went  to  his  own  room. 

For  some  days  after  this,  Mr.  Smith  did  not  appear 
at  all  like  himself.  He  seemed  abstracted  and  puzzled. 
Miss  Maggie,  who  still  felt  self-conscious  and  em 
barrassed  over  her  misconception  of  his  attentions  to 
Mellicent,  was  more  talkative  than  usual  in  her  nerv- 

222 


ous  attempt  to  appear  perfectly  natural.  The  fact 
that  she  often  found  his  eyes  fixed  thoughtfully  upon 
her,  and  felt  them  following  her  as  she  moved  about 
the  room,  did  not  tend  to  make  her  more  at  ease.  At 
such  times  she  talked  faster  than  ever  —  usually,  if 
possible,  about  some  member  of  the  Blaisdell  family: 
Miss  Maggie  had  learned  that  Mr.  Smith  was  always 
interested  in  any  bit  of  news  about  the  Blaisdells. 

It  was  on  such  an  occasion  that  she  told  him  about 
Miss  Flora  and  the  new  house. 

"I  don't  know,  really,  what  I  am  going  to  do  with 
her,"  she  said.  "I  wonder  if  perhaps  you  could  help 
me." 

"Help  you?—  about  Miss  Flora?" 

"  Yes.  Can  you  think  of  any  way  to  make  her  con 
tented?" 

"Contented!  Why,  I  thought —  Don't  tell  me  she 
isn't  happy!"  There  was  a  curious  note  of  almost 
despair  in  Mr.  Smith's  voice.  "Hasn't  she  a  new 
house,  and  everything  nice  to  go  with  it?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed.  Then  she  sighed. 

"Oh,  yes  —  and  that 's  what's  the  trouble.  They're 
too  nice.  She  feels  smothered  and  oppressed  —  as  if 
she  were  visiting  somewhere,  and  not  at  home.  She's 
actually  afraid  of  her  maid.  You  see,  Miss  Flora  has 
always  lived  very  simply.  She  is  n't  used  to  maids  — 
and  the  maid  knows  it,  which,  if  you  ever  employed 
maids,  you  would  know  is  a  terrible  state  of  affairs." 

"Oh,  but  she —  she'll  get  used  to  that,  in  time." 

"Perhaps,"  conceded  Miss  Maggie,  "but  I  doubt 
it.  Some  women  would,  but  not  Miss  Flora.  She  is 
too  inherently  simple  in  her  tastes.  'Why,  it's  as  bad 

223 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

as  always  living  in  a  hotel ! '  she  wailed  to  me  last  night. 
'You  know  on  my  trip  I  was  so  afraid  always  I'd  do 
something  that  was  n't  quite  right,  before  those  awful 
waiters  in  the  dining-rooms,  and  I  wTas  anticipating  so 
much  getting  home  where  I  could  act  natural  —  and 
here  I've  got  one  in  my  own  house!' ' 

Mr.  Smith  frowned,  but  he  laughed,  too. 

"Poor  Miss  Flora!  But  why  doesn't  she  dismiss 
the  lady?" 

"She  does  n't  dare  to.  Besides,  there's  Hattie.  She 
says  Hattie  is  always  telling  her  what  is  due  her  posi 
tion,  and  that  she  must  do  this  and  do  that.  She's 
being  invited  out,  too,  to  the  Pennocks'  and  the  Ben- 
sons';  and  they're  worse  than  the  maid,  she  declares. 
She  says  she  loves  to  '  run  in '  and  see  people,  and  she 
loves  to  go  to  places  and  spend  the  day  with  her  sew 
ing;  but  that  these  things  where  you  go  and  stand  up 
and  eat  off  a  jiggly  plate,  and  see  everybody,  and  not 
really  see  anybody,  are  a  nuisance  and  an  abomina 
tion." 

"Well,  she's  about  right  there,"  chuckled  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Yes,  I  think  she  is,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie;  "but 
that  is  n't  telling  me  how  to  make  her  contented." 

"Contented!  Great  Scott!"  snapped  Mr.  Smith, 
with  an  irritability  that  was  as  sudden  as  it  was  appar 
ently  causeless.  "I  didn't  suppose  you  had  to  tell 
any  woman  on  this  earth  how  to  be  contented —  with 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars!" 

"It  would  seem  so,  would  n't  it?" 

Something  in  Miss  M  aggie's  voice  sent  Mr.  Smith's 
eyes  to  her  face  in  a  keen  glance  of  interrogation. 

221 


AN  AMBASSADOR  OF  CUPID'S 

"You  mean — you'd  like  the  chance  to  prove  it? 
That  you  wish  you  had  that  hundred  thousand?" 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  say —  that,"  twinkled  Miss  Maggie 
mischievously,  turning  away. 

It  was  that  same  afternoon  that  Mr.  Smith  met 
Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell  on  the  street. 

"You're  just  the  man  I  want  to  see,"  she  accosted 
him  eagerly. 

"Then  I'll  turn  and  walk  along  with  you,  if  I  may," 
smiled  Mr.  Smith.  "What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  you  can  do  anything,"  she 
sighed;  "but  somebody's  got  to  do  something.  Could 
you  —  do  you  suppose  you  could  interest  my  husband 
in  this  Blaisdell  business  of  yours?" 

Mr.  Smith  gave  a  start,  looking  curiously  discon 
certed. 

"B-Blaisdell  business?"  he  stammered.  "Why,  I  — 
I  thought  he  was  —  er  —  interested  in  motoring  and 
golf." 

"Oh,  he  was,  for  a  time;  but  it's  too  cold  for  those 
now,  and  he  got  sick  of  them,  anyway,  before  it  did 
come  cold,  just  as  he  does  of  everything.  Well,  yes 
terday  he  asked  a  question —  something  about  Father 
Blaisdell's  mother;  and  that  gave  me  the  idea.  Do 
you  suppose  you  could  get  him  interested  in  this 
ancestor  business?  Oh,  I  wish  you  could !  It's  so  nice 
and  quiet,  and  it  can't  cost  much  —  not  like  golf  clubs 
and  caddies  and  gasoline,  anyway.  Do  you  think  you 
could?" 

"Why,  I--I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Blaisdell,"  mur 
mured  Mr.  Smith,  still  a  little  worriedly.  "I  —  I  could 
show  him  what  I  have  found,  of  course." 

.  ,225 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would,  then.  Anyway,  something's 
got  to  be  done,"  she  sighed.  "He's  nervous  as  a  witch. 
He  can't  keep  still  a  minute.  And  he  is  n't  a  bit  well, 
either.  He  ate  such  a  lot  of  rich  food  and  all  sorts  of 
stuff  on  our  trip  that  he  got  his  stomach  all  out  of 
order;  and  now  he  can't  eat  anything,  hardly." 

"Humph!  Well,  if  his  stomach's  knocked  out,  I 
pity  him,"  nodded  Mr.  Smith.  "I've  been  there." 

"Oh,  have  you?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  You  did  say 
so  when  you  first  came,  did  n't  you?  But,  Mr.  Smith, 
please,  if  you  know  any  of  those  health  fads,  don't  tell 
them  to  my  husband.  Don't,  I  beg  of  you!  He's  tried 
dozens  of  them  until  I'm  nearly  wild,  and  I've  lost 
two  hired  girls  already.  One  day  it'll  be  no  water, 
and  the  next  it'll  be  all  he  can  drink;  and  one  wreek  he 
won't  eat  anything  but  vegetables,  and  the  next  he 
won't  touch  a  thing  but  meat  and  —  is  it  fruit  that 
goes  with  meat  or  cereals?  Well,  never  mind.  What 
ever  it  is,  he's  done  it.  And  lately  he's  taken  to  in 
specting  every  bit  of  meat  and  groceries  that  comes 
into  the  house.  Why,  he  spends  half  his  time  in  the 
kitchen,  nosing  'round  the  cupboards  and  refrigerator; 
and,  of  course,  no  girl  will  stand  that!  That's  why  I'm 
hoping,  oh,  I  am  hoping  that  you  can  do  something 
with  him  on  that  ancestor  business.  There,  here  is  the 
Bensons',  where  I've  got  to  stop — and  thank  you 
ever  so  much,  Mr.  Smith,  if  you  will." 

"All  right,  I'll  try,"  promised  Mr.  Smith  dubiously, 
as  he  lifted  his  hat.  But  he  frowned,  and  he  was  still 
frowning  when  he  met  Miss  Maggie  at  the  Duff  sup 
per-table  half  an  hour  later. 

"  Well,  I  've  found  another  one  who  wants  me  to  tell 
226 


AN  AMBASSADOR  OF  CUPID'S 

how  to  be  contented,  though  afflicted  with  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,"  he  greeted  her  gloweringly. 

"Is  that  so?"  smiled  Miss  Maggie. 

"Yes.  -Can't  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  bring  any 
one  satisfaction?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed,  then  into  her  eyes  came  the 
mischievous  twinkle  that  Mr.  Smith  had  learned  to 
watch  for. 

"Don't  blame  the  poor  money, "  she  said  then 
demurely.  "Blame  —  the  way  it  is  spent!" 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

JUST  A   MATTER   OF   BEGGING 

TRUE  to  his  promise,  Mr.  Smith  "tried"  Mr.  Frank 
Blaisdell  on  "the  ancestor  business"  very  soon.  Labo 
riously  he  got  out  his  tabulated  dates  and  names, 
and  carefully  he  traced  for  him  several  lines  of  descent 
from  remote  ancestors.  Painstakingly  he  pointed  out 
a  "Submit,"  who  had  no  history  but  the  bare  fact  of 
her  marriage  to  one  Thomas  Blaisdell,  and  a  "Thank 
ful  Marsh,"  who  had  eluded  his  every  attempt  to  sup 
ply  her  with  parents.  He  let  it  be  understood  how 
important  these  missing  links  were,  and  he  tried  to 
inspire  his  possible  pupil  with  a  frenzied  desire  to  go 
out  and  dig  them  up.  He  showed  some  of  the  interest 
ing  letters  he  had  received  from  various  Blaisdells  far 
and  near,  and  he  spread  before  him  the  genealogical 
page  of  his  latest  "Transcript,"  and  explained  how 
one  might  there  stumble  upon  the  very  missing  link 
he  was  looking  for. 

But  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  was  openly  bored.  He  said 
he  did  n't  care  how  many  children  his  great-grand 
father  had,  nor  what  they  died  of;  and  as  for  Mrs. 
Submit  and  Miss  Thankful,  the  ladies  might  bury 
themselves  in  the  "Transcript,"  or  hide  behind  that 
wall  of  dates  and  names  till  doomsday,  for  all  he  cared. 
lie  should  n't  disturb  'em.  He  never  did  like  figures, 
he  said,  except  figures  that  represented  something 
worth  while,  like  a  day's  sales  or  a  year's  profits. 

228  ' 


JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 

And,  speaking  of  grocery  stores,  had  Mr.  Smith  ever 
seen  a  store  run  down  as  his  old  one  had  since  he  sold 
out?  For  that  matter,  something  must  have  got  into 
all  the  grocery  stores;  for  a  poorer  lot  of  goods  than 
those  delivered  every  day  at  his  home  he  never  saw. 
It  was  a  disgrace  to  the  trade. 

He  said  a  good  deal  more  about  his  grocery  store  — 
but  nothing  whatever  more  about  his  Blaisdell  ances 
tors;  so  Mr.  Smith  felt  justified  in  considering  his 
efforts  to  interest  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  in  the  ancestor 
business  a  failure.   Certainly  he  never  tried  it  again. 

It  was  in  February  that  a  certain  metropolitan  re 
porter,  short  for  feature  articles,  ran  up  to  Hillerton 
and  contributed  to  his  paper,  the  following  Sunday, 
a  write-up  on  "The  Blaisdells  One  Year  After,"  en 
larging  on  the  fine  new  homes,  the  motor  cars,  and 
the  luxurious  living  of  the  three  families.  And  it  was 
three  days  after  this  article  was  printed  that  Miss 
Flora  appeared  at  Miss  Maggie's,  breathless  with 
excitement. 

"Just  see  what  I've  got  in  the  mail  this  morning!" 
she  cried  to  Miss  Maggie,  and  to  Mr.  Smith,  who  had 
opened  the  door  for  her. 

With  trembling  fingers  she  took  from  her  bag  a 
letter,  and  a  small  picture  evidently  cut  from  a  news 
paper. 

"There,  see,"  she  panted,  holding  them  out.  "It's 
a  man  in  Boston,  and  these  are  his  children.  There 
are  seven  of  them.  He  wrote  me  a  beautiful  letter. 
He  said  he  knew  I  must  have  a  real  kind  heart,  and 
he's  in  terrible  trouble.  He  said  he  saw  in  the  paper 
about  the  wonderful  legacy  I'd  had,  and  he  told  his 

229 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

wife  he  was  going  to  write  to  me,  to  see  if  I  would  n't 
help  them  —  if  only  a  little,  it  would  aid  them  that 
much." 

"He  wants  money,  then?"  Miss  Maggie  had  taken 
the  letter  and  the  picture  rather  gingerly  in  her  hands. 
Mr.  Smith  had  gone  over  to  the  stove  suddenly  —  to 
turn  a  damper,  apparently,  though  a  close  observer 
might  have  noticed  that  he  turned  it  back  to  its  former 
position  almost  at  once. 

"Yes,"  palpitated  Miss  Flora.  "He's  sick,  and  he 
lost  his  position,  and  his  wife's  sick,  and  two  of  the 
children,  and  one  of  'em  's  lame,  and  another's  blind. 
Oh,  it  was  such  a  pitiful  story,  Maggie!  Why,  some 
days  they  have  n't  had  enough  to  eat  —  and  just  look 
at  me,  with  all  my  chickens  and  turkeys  and  more 
pudding  every  day  than  I  can  stuff  down!" 

"Did  he  give  you  any  references?" 

"References!  What  do  you  mean?  He  did  n't  ask 
me  to  hire  him  for  anything." 

"No,  no,  dear,  but  I  mean —  did  he  give  you  any 
references,  to  show  that  he  was  —  was  worthy  and  all 
right,"  explained  Miss  Maggie  patiently. 

"Of  course  he  did  n't!  Why,  he  did  n't  need  to.  He 
told  me  himself  how  things  were  with  him,"  rebuked 
Miss  Flora  indignantly.  "It's  all  in  the  letter  there. 
Read  for  yourself." 

"But  he  really  ought  to  have  given  you  some  refer 
ence,  dear,  if  he  asked  you  for  money." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  any  reference.  I  believe  him. 
I'd  be  ashamed  to  doubt  a  man  like  that!  And  you 
would,  after  you  read  that  letter,  and  look  into  those 
blessed  children's  faces.  Besides,  he  never  thought  of 

230 


Hcltu  I*.'-*"*  Oo5C 

AND  LOOK  INTO  THOSE  BLESSED  CHILDREN'S 
FACES " 


JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 

su«h  a  thing  —  I  know  he  did  n't.  Why,  he  says  right 
in  the  letter  there  that  he  never  asked  for  help  before, 
and  he  was  so  ashamed  that  he  had  to  now." 

Mr.  Smith  made  a  sudden  odd  little  noise  in  his 
throat.  Perhaps  he  got  choked.  At  all  events,  he  was 
seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing  just  then. 

Miss  Maggie  turned  over  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Where  does  he  tell  you  to  send  the  money?" 

"It's  right  there — Box  four  hundred  and  some 
thing;  and  I  got  a  money  order,  just  as  he  said." 

"You  got  one!  Do  you  mean  that  you've  already 
sent  this  money?"  cried  Miss  Maggie. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course.  I  stopped  at  the  office  on 
the  way  down  here." 

"And  you  sent —  a  money  order?" 

"Yes.  He  said  he  would  rather  have  that  than  a 
check." 

"I  don't  doubt  it!  You  don't  seem  to  have —  de 
layed  any." 

"Of  course  I  didn't  delay!  Why,  Maggie,  he  said 
he  had  to  have  it  at  once.  He  was  going  to  be  turned 
out  —  turned  out  into  the  streets !  Think  of  those 
seven  little  children  in  the  streets!  Wait,  indeed!  Why, 
Maggie,  what  can  you  be  thinking  of?" 

"I'm  thinking  you've  been  the  easy  victim  of  a 
professional  beggar,  Flora,"  retorted  Miss  Maggie, 
with  some  spirit,  handing  back  the  letter  and  the 
picture. 

"WThy,  Maggie,  I  never  knew  you  to  be  so — so 
unkind,"  charged  Miss  Flora,  her  eyes  tearful.  "He 
can't  be  a  professional  beggar.  He  said  he  was  n't  — 
that  he  never  begged  before  in  his  life." 

231 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Miss  Maggie,  with  a  despairing  gesture,  averted  her 
face. 

Miss  Flora  turned  to  Mr.  Smith. 

"Mr.  Smith,  you — you  don't  think  so,  do  you?'1 
she  pleaded. 

Mr.  Smith  grew  very  red  —  perhaps  because  he  had 
to  stop  to  cough  again. 

"Well,  Miss  Flora,  I — I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  have  to  agree  with  Miss  Maggie  here,  to  some 
extent." 

"But  you  did  n't  read  the  letter.  You  don't  know 
how  beautifully  he  talked." 

"You  told  me;  and  you  say  yourself  that  he  gave 
you  only  a  post-office  box  for  an  address.  So  you  see 
you  could  n't  look  him  up  very  well." 

"I  don't  need  to!"  Miss  Flora  threw  back  her  head 
a  little  haughtily.  "And  I'm  glad  I  don't  doubt  my 
fellow  men  and  women  as  you  and  Maggie  Duff  do! 
If  either  of  you  knew  what  you're  talking  about,  I 
would  n't  say  anything.  But  you  don't.  You  can't 
know  anything  about  this  man,  and  you  did  n't  ever 
get  letters  like  this,  either  of  you,  of  course.  But, 
anyhow,  I  don't  care  if  he  ain't  worthy.  I  would  n't 
let  those  children  suffer;  and  I —  I'm  glad  I  sent  it. 
I  never  in  my  life  was  so  happy  as  I  was  on  the  way 
here  from  the  post-office  this  morning." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she  turned  away  majes 
tically;  but  at  the  door  she  paused  and  looked  back  at 
Miss  Maggie. 

"And  let  me  tell  you  that,  however  good  or  bad  this 
particular  man  may  be,  it's  given  me  an  idea,  any 
way,"  she  choked.  The  haughtiness  was  all  gone  now. 

232 


JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 

"I  know  now  why  it  has  n't  seemed  right  to  be  so 
happy.  It's  because  there  are  so  many  other  folks  in 
the  world  that  are  n't  happy.  Why,  my  chicken  and 
turkey  would  choke  me  now  if  I  did  n't  give  some  of 
it  to —  to  all  these  others.  And  I'm  going  to —  I'm 
going  to!"  she  reiterated,  as  she  fled  from  the  room. 

As  the  door  shut  crisply,  Miss  Maggie  turned  and 
looked  at  Mr.  Smith.  But  Mr.  Smith  had  crossed  again 
to  the  stove  and  was  fussing  with  the  damper.  Miss 
Maggie,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  turned  and  went 
out  into  the  kitchen,  without  speaking. 

Mr.  Smith  and  Miss  Maggie  saw  very  little  of  Miss 
Flora  after  this  for  some  time.  But  they  heard  a  good 
deal  about  her.  They  heard  of  her  generous  gifts  to 
families  all  over  town. 

A  turkey  was  sent  to  every  house  on  Mill  Street, 
without  exception,  and  so  much  candy  given  to  the 
children  that  half  of  them  were  made  ill,  much  to  the 
distress  of  Miss  Flora,  who,  it  was  said,  promptly  sent 
a  physician  to  undo  her  work.  The  Dow  family,  hard 
working  and  thrifty,  and  the  'Nolans,  notorious  for 
their  laziness  and  shiftlessness,  each  received  a  hun 
dred  dollars  outright.  The  Whalens,  always  with  both 
hands  metaphorically  outstretched  for  alms,  were  loud 
in  their  praises  of  Miss  Flora's  great  kindness  of 
heart;  but  the  Davises  (Mrs.  Jane  Blaisdell's  impecu 
nious  relatives)  had  very  visible  difficulty  in  making 
Miss  Flora  understand  that  gifts  bestowed  as  she  be 
stowed  them  were  more  welcome  unmade. 

Every  day,  from  one  quarter  or  another,  came 
stories  like  these  to  the  ears  of  Miss  Maggie  and  Mr. 
Smith.  But  Miss  Flora  was  seen  very  seldom.  Then 

233 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

one  day,  about  a  month  later,  she  appeared  as  before 
at  the  Duff  cottage,  breathless  and  agitated;  only  this 
time,  plainly,  she  had  been  crying. 

"Why,  Flora,  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter?" 
cried  Miss  Maggie,  as  she  hurried  her  visitor  into  a 
comfortable  chair  and  began  to  unfasten  her  wraps. 

"I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute.  I  came  on  purpose  to  tell 
you.  But  I  want  Mr.  Smith,  too.  Oh,  he  ain't  here, 
is  he?"  she  lamented,  with  a  disappointed  glance 
toward  the  vacant  chair  by  the  table  in  the  corner. 
"I  thought  maybe  he  could  help  me,  some  way.  I  won't 
go  to  Frank,  or  Jim.  They've —  they've  said  so  many 
things.  Oh,  I  did  so  hope  Mr.  Smith  was  here!" 

"He  is  here,  dear.  He's  in  his  room.  He  just  came 
in.  I'll  call  him,"  comforted  Miss  Maggie,  taking  off 
Miss  Flora's  veil  and  hat  and  smoothing  back  her  hair. 
"But  you  don't  want  him  to  find  you  crying  like  this, 
Flora.  What  is  it,  dear?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  but  I'm  not  crying  --  I  mean, 
I  won't  any  more.  And  I  '11  tell  you  just  as  soon  as  you 
get  Mr.  Smith.  It's  only  that  I've  been —  so  silly, 
I  suppose.  Please  get  Mr.  Smith." 

"All  right,  dear." 

Miss  Maggie,  still  with  the  disturbed  frown  between 
her  eyebrows,  summoned  Mr.  Smith.  Then  together 
they  sat  down  to  hear  Miss  Flora's  story. 

"It  all  started,  of  course,  from  —  from  that  day  I 
brought  the  letter  here  — -  from  that  man  in  Boston 
with  seven  children,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  encouraged  Miss  Maggie. 

"Well,  I —  I  did  quite  a  lot  of  things  after  that.  I 
was  so  glad  and  happy  to  discover  I  could  do  things 

234 


JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 

for  folks.  It  seemed  to  —  to  take  away  the  wicked 
ness  of  my  having  so  much,  you  know;  and  so  I  gave 
food  and  money,  oh,  lots  of  places  here  in  town  — 
everywhere,  'most,  that  I  could  find  that  anybody 
needed  it." 

"Yes,  I  know.  We  heard  of  the  many  kind  things 
you  did,  dear."  Miss  Maggie  had  the  air  of  one  trying 
to  soothe  a  grieved  child. 

"But  they  did  n't  turn  out  to  be  kind  —  all  of  'em," 
quavered  Miss  Flora.  "Some  of  'em  went  wrong.  I 
don't  know  why.  I  tried  to  do  'em  all  right!" 

"Of  course  you  did!" 

"I  know;  but  't  ain't  those  I  came  to  talk  about. 
It's  the  others  —  the  letters." 

"Letters?" 

"Yes.  I  got  'em  —  lots  of  'em  —  after  the  first  one 
—  the  one  you  saw.  First  I  got  one,  then  another  and 
another,  till  lately  I've  been  getting  'em  every  day, 
'most,  and  some  days  two  or  three  at  a  time." 

"And  they  all  wanted  —  money,  I  suppose,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Smith,  "for  their  sick  wives  and  children, 
I  suppose." 

"Oh,  not  for  children  always  —  though  it  was  them 
a  good  deal.  But  it  was  for  different  things  —  and 
such  a  lot  of  them!  I  never  knew  there  could  be  so 
many  kinds  of  such  things.  And  I  was  real  pleased, 
at  first,  —  that  I  could  help,  you  know,  in  so  many 
places." 

"Then  you  always  sent  it — the  money?"  asked 
Mr.  Smith. 

"Oh,  yes.  Why,  I  just  had  to,  the  way  they  wrote; 
and  I  wanted  to,  too.  They  wrote  lovely  letters,  and 

235 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

real  interesting  ones,  too.  One  man  wanted  a  warm 
coat  for  his  little  girl,  and  he  told  me  all  about  what 
hard  times  they'd  had.  Another  wanted  a  brace  for 
his  poor  little  crippled  boy,  and  he  told  me  things. 
Why,  I  never  s'posed  folks  could  have  such  awful 
things,  and  live!  One  woman  just  wanted  to  borrow 
twenty  dollars  while  she  was  so  sick.  She  did  n't  ask 
me  to  give  it  to  her.  She  was  n't  a  beggar.  Don't  you 
suppose  I'd  send  her  that  money?  Of  course  I  would! 
And  there  was  a  poor  blind  man  —  he  wanted  money 
to  buy  a  Bible  in  raised  letters ;  and  of  course  I  would 
n't  refuse  that!  Some  did  n't  beg;  they  just  wanted  to 
sell  things.  I  bought  a  diamond  ring  to  help  put  a  boy 
through  school,  and  a  ruby  pin  of  a  man  who  needed 
the  money  for  bread  for  his  children.  And  there  was 
-  oh,  there  was  lots  of  'em  —  too  many  to  tell." 

"And  all  from  Boston,  I  presume,"  murmured  Mr. 
Smith. 

"Oh,  no, —  why,  yes,  they  were,  too,  most  of  'em, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  But  how  did  you  know?  " 

"Oh,  I  —  guessed  it.  But  go  on.  You  have  n't  fin 
ished." 

"No,  I  haven't  finished,"  moaned  Miss  Flora,  al 
most  crying  again.  "And  now  comes  the  worst  of  it. 
As  I  said,  at  first  I  liked  it  —  all  these  letters  —  and 
I  was  so  glad  to  help.  But  they're  coming  so  fast  now 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  'em.  And  I  never 
saw  such  a  lot  of  things  as  they  want  —  pensions  and 
mortgages,  and  pianos,  and  educations,  and  wedding 
dresses,  and  clothes  to  be  buried  in,  and  —  and  there 
were  so  many,  and  —  and  so  queer,  some  of  'em,  that  I 
began  to  be  afraid  maybe  they  were  n't  quite  honest, 

236 


JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 

all  of  'em,  and  of  course  I  can't  send  to  such  a  lot  as 
there  are  now,  anyway,  and  I  was  getting  so  worried. 
Besides,  I  got  another  one  of  those  awful  proposals 
from  those  dreadful  men  that  want  to  marry  me.  As 
if  I  did  n't  know  that  was  for  my  money !  Then  to-day, 
this  morning,  I  —  I  got  the  worst  of  all."  From  her 
bag  she  took  an  envelope  and  drew  out  a  small  pic 
ture  of  several  children,  cut  apparently  from  a  news 
paper.  "Look  at  that.  Did  you  ever  see  that  before?" 
she  demanded. 

Miss  Maggie  scrutinized  the  picture. 

"Why,  no, —  yes,  it's  the  one  you  brought  us  a 
month  ago,  is  n't  it?" 

Miss  Flora's  eyes  flashed  angrily. 

"Indeed,  it  ain't!  The  one  I  showed  you  before  is 
in  my  bureau  drawer  at  home.  But  I  got  it  out  this 
morning,  when  this  one  came,  and  compared  them; 
and  they  're  just  exactly  alike  —  exactly  !  " 

"Oh,  he  wrote  again,  then,  —  wants  more  money, 
I  suppose,"  frowned  Miss  Maggie. 

"No,  he  did  n't.  It  ain't  the  same  man.  This  man's 
name  is  Haley,  and  that  one  was  Fay.  But  Mr.  Haley 
says  this  is  a  picture  of  his  children,  and  he  says  that 
the  little  girl  in  the  corner  is  Katy,  and  she's  deaf  and 
dumb;  but  Mr.  Fay  said  her  name  was  Rosie,  and  that 
she  was  lame.  And  all  the  others  —  their  names  ain't 
the  same,  either,  and  there  ain't  any  of  'em  blind. 
And,  of  course,  I  know  now  that —  that  one  of  those 
men  is  lying  to  me.  Why,  they  cut  them  out  of  the 
same  newspaper;  they've  got  the  same  reading  on 
the  back!  And  I  —  I  don't  know  what  to  believe  now. 
And  there  are  all  those  letters  at  home  that  I  have  n't 

237 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

answered  yet;  and  they  keep  coming — why,  I  just 
dread  to  see  the  postman  turn  down  our  street. 
And  one  man  —  he  wrote  twice.  I  did  n't  like  his 
first  letter  and  didn't  answer  it;1  and  now  he  says 
if  I  don't  send  him  the  money  he'll  tell  everybody 
everywhere  what  a  stingy  t-tight-wad  I  am.  And  an 
other  man  said  he'd  come  and  take  it  if  I  did  n't  send 
it;  and  you  know  how  afraid  of  burglars  I  am!  Oh, 
what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do?"  she  begged  pite- 
ously. 

Mr.  Smith  said  a  sharp  word  behind  his  teeth. 

"Do?"  he  cried  then  wrathfully.  "First,  don't  you 
worry  another  bit,  Miss  Flora.  Second,  just  hand 
those  letters  over  to  me — every  one  of  them.  I'll 
attend  to  'em!" 

"To  you?"  gasped  Miss  Flora.  "But — how  can 
you?" 

"Oh,  I'll  be  your  secretary.  Most  rich  people  have 
to  have  secretaries,  you  know." 

"But  how '11  you  know  how  to  answer  my  letters?" 
demanded  Miss  Flora  dubiously.  "Have  you  ever 
been  —  a  secretary?" 

"N-no,  not  exactly  a  secretary.  But — I've  had 
some  experience  with  similar  letters,"  observed  Mr. 
Smith  dryly. 

Miss  Flora  drew  a  long  sigh. 

"Oh,  dear!  I  wish  you  could.  Do  you  think  you  can? 
I  hoped  maybe  you  could  help  me  some  way,  but  I 
never  thought  of  that  —  your  answering  'em,  I  mean. 
I  supposed  everybody  had  to  answer  their  own  let 
ters.  How '11  you  know  what  I  want  to  say?" 

Mr.  Smith  laughed  a  little. 
238 


JUST  A  MATTER  OF  BEGGING 

"I  shan't  be  answering  what  you  want  to  say  — 
but  what  I  want  to  say.  In  this  case,  Miss  Flora,  I 
may  exceed  the  prerogatives  of  the  ordinary  secre 
tary  just  a  bit,  you  see.  But  you  can  count  on  one 
thing  —  I  shan't  be  spending  any  money  for  you.'* 

"You  won't  send  them  anything,  then?" 

"Not  a  red  cent." 

Miss  Flora  looked  distressed. 

"But,  Mr.  Smith,  I  want  to  send  some  of  'em  some 
thing!  I  want  to  be  kind  and  charitable." 

"Of  course  you  do,  dear,"  spoke  up  Miss  Maggie. 
"But  you  aren't  being  either  kind  or  charitable  to 
foster  rascally  fakes  like  that,"  pointing  to  the  picture 
in  Miss  Flora's  lap. 

"Are  they  all  fakes,  then?" 

"I'd  stake  my  life  on  most  of  *em,"  declared  Mr. 
Smith.  "They  have  all  the  earmarks  of  fakes,  all 
right." 

Miss  Flora  stirred  restlessly. 

"But  I  was  having  a  beautiful  time  giving  until 
these  horrid  letters  began  to  come." 

"Flora,  do  you  give  because  you  like  the  sensation  of 
giving,  and  of  receiving  thanks,  or  because  you  really 
want  to  help  somebody?"  asked  Miss  Maggie,  a  bit 
wearily. 

"Why,  Maggie  Duff,  I  want  to  help  people,  of 
course,"  almost  wept  Miss  Flora. 

"Well,  then,  suppose  you  try  and  give  so  it  will  help 
them,  then,"  said  Miss  Maggie.  "  One  of  the  most 
risky  things  in  the  world,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  is  a 
present  of  —  cash.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"Er — ah —  w-what?  Y-yes,  of  course,"  stammered 

239 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Mr.  Smith,  growing  suddenly,  for  some  unapparent 
reason,  very  much  confused.  "Yes — yes,  I  do."  As 
Mr.  Smith  finished  speaking,  he  threw  an  oddly  nerv 
ous  glance  into  Miss  Maggie's  face. 

But  Miss  Maggie  had  turned  back  to  Miss  Flora. 

"There,  dear,"  she  admonished  her,  "now,  you  do 
just  as  Mr.  Smith  says.  Just  hand  over  your  letters 
to  him  for  a  while,  and  forget  all  about  them.  He'll 
tell  you  how  he  answers  them,  of  course.  But  you 
won't  have  to  worry  about  them  any  more.  Besides, 
they'll  soon  stop  coming,  —  won't  they,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"1  think  they  will.  They'll  dwindle  to  a  few  scat 
tering  ones,  anyway,  —  after  I  Ve  handled  them  for  a 
while." 

"Well,  I  should  like  that,"  sighed  Miss  Flora.  "But 
-can't  I  give  anything  anywhere?"  she  besought 
plaintively. 

"Of  course  you  can!"  cried  Miss  Maggie.  "But  I 
would  investigate  a  little,  first,  dear.  Would  n't  you, 
Mr.  Smith?  Don't  you  believe  in  investigation?" 

Once  again,  before  he  answered,  Mr.  Smith  threw  a 
swiftly  questioning  glance  into  Miss  Maggie's  face. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes;  I  believe  in — investigation,"  he 
said  then.  "And  now,  Miss  Flora,"  he  added  briskly, 
as  Miss  Flora  reached  for  her  wraps,  "with  your  kind 
permission  I'll  walk  home  with  you  and  have  a  look 
at —  my  new  job  of  secretarying." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

STILL   OTHER   FLIES 

IT  was  when  his  duties  of  secretaryship  to  Miss  Flora 
had  dwindled  to  almost  infinitesimal  proportions  that 
Mr.  Smith  wished  suddenly  that  he  were  serving  Miss 
Maggie  in  that  capacity,  so  concerned  was  he  over  a 
letter  that  had  come  to  Miss  Maggie  in  that  morning's 
mail. 

He  himself  had  taken  it  from  the  letter-carrier's 
hand  and  had  placed  it  on  Miss  Maggie's  little  desk. 
Casually,  as  he  did  so,  he  had  noticed  that  it  bore  a 
name  he  recognized  as  that  of  a  Boston  law  firm;  but 
he  had  given  it  no  further  thought  until  later,  when, 
as  he  sat  at  his  work  in  the  living-room,  he  had  heard 
Miss  Maggie  give  a  low  cry  and  had  looked  up 
to  find  her  staring  at  the  letter  in  her  hand,  her  face 
going  from  red  to  white  and  back  to  red  again. 

"Why,  Miss  Maggie,  what  is  it?"  he  cried,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet. 

As  she  turned  toward  him  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears. 

"  Why,  it  —  it 's  a  letter  telling  me  —  "  She  stopped 
abruptly,  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

"Yes,  yes,  tell  me,"  he  begged.  "Why,  you  are  — 
crying,  dear!"  Mr.  Smith,  plainly  quite  unaware  of 
the  caressing  word  he  had  used,  came  nearer,  his  face 
aglow  with  sympathy,  his  eyes  very  tender. 

The  red  surged  once  more  over  Miss  Maggie's  face. 
241 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

She  drew  back  a  little,  though  manifestly  with  em 
barrassment,  not  displeasure. 

"It's  —  nothing,  really  it's  nothing,"  she  stam 
mered.  "It's  just  a  letter  that  —  that  surprised  me." 

"But  it  made  you  cry!" 

"Oh,  well,  I  —  I  cry  easily  sometimes."  With 
hands  that  shook  visibly,  she  folded  the  letter  and 
tucked  it  into  its  envelope.  Then  with  a  carelessness 
that  was  a  little  too  elaborate,  she  tossed  it  into  her 
open  desk.  Very  plainly,  whatever  she  had  meant  to 
do  in  the  first  place,  she  did  not  now  intend  to  disclose 
to  Mr.  Smith  the  contents  of  that  letter. 

"Miss  Maggie,  please  tell  me —  was  it  bad  news?" 

"Bad?  Why,  of  course  not!"   She  laughed  gayly. 

Mr.  Smith  thought  he  detected  a  break  very  like  a 
sob  in  the  laugh. 

"But  maybe  I  could —  help  you,"  he  pleaded. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  could  n't —  indeed,  you  could  n't!" 

"Miss  Maggie,  was  it —  money  matters?" 

He  had  his  answer  in  the  telltale  color  that  flamed 
instantly  into  her  face —  but  her  lips  said:  - 

"It  was  —  nothing —  I  mean,  it  was  nothing  that 
need  concern  you."  She  hurried  away  then  to  the 
kitchen,  and  Mr.  Smith  was  left  alone  to  fume  up  and 
down  the  room  and  frown  savagely  at  the  offending 
envelope  tiptilted  against  the  ink  bottle  in  Miss 
Maggie's  desk,  just  as  Miss  Maggie's  carefully  careless 
hand  had  thrown  it. 

Miss  Maggie  had  several  more  letters  from  the 
Boston  law  firm,  and  Mr.  Smith  knew  it  —  though  he 
never  heard  Miss  Maggie  cry  out  at  any  of  the  other 

242 


STILL  OTHER  FLIES 

ones.  That  they  affected  her  deeply,  however,  he  was 
certain.  Her  very  evident  efforts  to  lead  him  to  think 
that  they  were  of  no  consequence  would  convince 
him  of  their  real  importance  to  her  if  nothing  else  had 
done  so.  He  watched  her,  therefore,  covertly,  fearfully, 
longing  to  help  her,  but  not  daring  to  offer  his  services. 

That  the  affair  had  something  to  do  with  money 
matters  he  was  sure.  That  she  would  not  deny  this 
naturally  strengthened  him  in  this  belief.  He  came  in 
time,  therefore,  to  formulate  his  own  opinion:  she  had 
lost  money  —  perhaps  a  good  deal  (for  her),  and  she 
was  too  proud  to  let  him  or  any  one  else  know  it. 

He  watched  then  all  the  more  carefully  to  see  if  he 
could  detect  any  new  economies  or  new  deprivations 
in  her  daily  living.  Then,  because  he  could  not  dis 
cover  any  such,  he  worried  all  the  more:  if  she  had 
lost  that  money,  she  ought  to  economize,  certainly. 
Could  she  be  so  foolish  as  to  carry  her  desire  for  secrecy 
to  so  absurd  a  length  as  to  live  just  exactly  as  before 
when  she  really  could  not  afford  it? 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Smith  requested 
to  have  hot  water  brought  to  his  room  morning  and 
night,  for  which  service  he  insisted,  in  spite  of  Miss 
Maggie's  remonstrances,  on  paying  three  dollars  a 
week  extra. 

There  came  a  strange  man  to  call  one  day.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  Boston  law  firm.  Mr.  Smith  found 
out  that  much,  but  no  more.  Miss  Maggie  was  al 
most  hysterical  after  his  visit.  She  talked  very  fast 
and  laughed  a  good  deal  at  supper  that  night;  yet  her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  nearly  all  the  time,  as  Mr.  Smith 
did  not  fail  to  perceive. 

243 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"And  I  suppose  she  thinks  she's  hiding  it  from  me 

—  that  her  heart  is  breaking!"  muttered  Mr.  Smith 
savagely  to  himself,  as  he  watched  Miss  Maggie's 
nervous  efforts  to  avoid  meeting  his  eyes.   "I  vow  I'll 
have  it  out  of  her.    I'll  have  it  out —  to-morrow!" 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  "have  it  out"  with  Miss  Maggie 
the  following  day,  however.  Something  entirely  out 
side  of  himself  sent  his  thoughts  into  a  new  channel. 

He  was  alone  in  the  Duff  living-room,  and  was  idling 
over  his  work,  at  his  table  in  the  corner,  when  Mrs. 
Hattie  Blaisdell  opened  the  door  and  hurried  in,  wring 
ing  her  hands.  Her  face  was  red  and  swollen  from  tears. 

"  Where 's  Maggie  ?  I  want  Maggie  !  Is  n't  Mag 
gie  here?"  she  implored. 

Mr.  Smith  sprang  to  his  feet  and  hastened  toward 
her. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  what  is  it?  No,  she  is  n't  here. 
I'm  so  sorry!  Can't  I  do —  anything?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know —  I  don't  know,"  moaned  the 
woman,  flinging  herself  into  a  chair.  "There  can't 
anybody  do  anything,  I  s'pose;  but  I've  got  to  have 
somebody.  I  can't  stay  there  in  that  house —  I  can't 

—  I  can't—  I  cant!" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  And  you  shan't,"  soothed 
the  man.  "And  she'll  be  here  soon,  I'm  sure —  Miss 
Maggie  will.  But  just  let  me  help  you  off  with  your 
things,"  he  urged,  somewhat  awkwardly  trying  to  un 
fasten  her  heavy  wraps.  "You'll  be  so  warm  here." 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know."  Impatiently  she  jerked  off 
the  rich  fur  coat  and  tossed  it  into  his  arms;  then  she 
dropped  into  the  chair  again  and  fell  to  wringing  her 
hands.  "Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do?" 

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STILL  OTHER  FLIES 

"But  what  is  it  ?"  stammered  Mr.  Smith  helplessly. 
"  Can't  I  do —  something  ?  Can't  I  send  for  —  for  your 
husband?" 

At  the  mention  of  her  husband,  Mrs.  Blaisdell  fell 
to  weeping  afresh. 

"No,  no!  He's  gone  —  to  Fred,  you  know." 

"To— Fred?" 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  what's  the  matter.  Oh,  Fred, 
Fred,  my  boy!" 

"Fred!  Oh,  Mrs.  Blaisdell,  I'm  so  sorry!  But  what 
—  wit?" 

The  woman  dropped  her  hands  from  her  face  and 
looked  up  wildly,  half  defiantly. 

"Mr.  Smith,  you  know  Fred.  You  liked  him,  did  n't 
you?  He  is  n't  bad  and  wicked,  is  he?  And  they  can't 
shut  him  up  if  —  if  we  pay  it  back  —  all  of  it  that  he 
took?  They  won't  take  my  boy —  to  prison?" 

"To  prison  — Fred!" 

At  the  look  of  horror  on  Mr.  Smith's  face,  she  began 
to  wring  her  hands  again. 

"You  don't  know,  of  course.  I'll  have  to  tell  you  — 
I'll  have  to,"  she  moaned. 

"But,  my  dear  woman,  —  not  unless  you  want 
to." 

"  I  do  want  to  —  I  do  want  to !  I  Ve  got  to  talk  —  to 
somebody.  It's  this  way."  With  a  visible  effort  she 
calmed  herself  a  little  and  forced  herself  to  talk  more 
coherently.  "We  got  a  letter  from  Fred.  It  came 
this  morning.  He  wanted  some  money  —  quick.  He 
wanted  seven  hundred  dollars  and  forty-two  cents. 
He  said  he'd  got  to  have  it  —  if  he  did  n't,  he'd  go  and 
himself.  He  said  he'd  spent  all  of  his  allowance, 
215 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

every  cent,  and  that's  what  made  him  take  it —  this 
other  money,  in  the  first  place." 

"You  mean —  money  that  did  n't  belong  to  him?" 
Mr.  Smith's  voice  was  a  little  stern. 

"Yes;  but  you  mustn't  blame  him,  you  mustn't 
blame  him,  Mr.  Smith.  He  said  he  owed  it.  It  was  a 
-  a  debt  of  honor.  Those  were  his  very  words." 

"Oh!  A  debt  of  honor,  was  it?"  Mr.  Smith's  lips 
came  together  grimly. 

"Yes;  and —  Oh,  Maggie,  Maggie,  what  shall  I  do? 
What  shall  I  do?  "  she  broke  off  wildly,  leaping  to  her 
feet  as  Miss  Maggie  pushed  open  the  door  and  hurried 
in. 

"Yes,  I  know.  Don't  worry.  We'll  find  something 
to  do."  Miss  Maggie,  white-faced,  but  with  a  cheery 
smile,  was  throwing  off  her  heavy  coat  and  her  hat. 
A  moment  later  she  came  over  and  took  Mrs.  Hattie's 
trembling  hands  in  both  her  own.  "Now,  first,  tell  me 
all  about  it,  dear." 

"You  know,  then?" 

"Only  a  little,"  answered  Miss  Maggie,  gently  push 
ing  the  other  back  into  her  chair.  "I  met  Frank.  Jim 
telephoned  him  something,  just  before  he  left.  But  I 
want  the  whole  story.  Now,  what  is  it?" 

"I  was  just  telling  Mr.  Smith."  She  began  to  wring 
her  hands  again,  but  Miss  Maggie  caught  and  held 
them  firmly.  "You  see,  Fred,  he  was  treasurer  of  some 
club,  or  society,  or  something;  and — and  he — he 
needed  some  money  to —  to  pay  a  man,  and  he  took 
that —  the  money  that  belonged  to  the  club,  you  know, 
and  he  thought  he  could  pay  it  back,  little  by  little. 
But  something  happened  —  I  don't  know  what  —  a 

246 


STILL  OTHER  FLIES 

new  treasurer,  or  something:  anyhow,  it  was  going  to 
be  found  out  —  that  he'd  taken  it.  It  was  going  to  be 
found  out  to-morrow,  and  so  he  wrote  the  letter  to  his 
father.  And  Jim 's  gone.  But  he  looked  so  —  oh,  I 
never  saw  him  look  so  white  and  terrible.  And  I'm 
so  afraid —  of  what  he'll  do —  to  Fred.  My  boy- 
my  boy!" 

"Is  Jim  going  to  give  him  the  money?"  asked  Miss 
Maggie. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes.  Jim  drew  it  out  of  the  bank.  Fred 
said  he  must  have  cash.  And  he's  going  to  give  it  to 
him.  Oh,  they  can't  shut  him  up  —  they  can't  send 
him  to  prison  now,  can  they?" 

"  Hush,  dear  !  No,  they  won't  send  him  to  prison. 
If  Jim  has  gone  with  the  money,  Fred  will  pay  it  back 
and  nobody  will  know  it.  But,  Hattie,  Fred  did  it, 
just  the  same." 

"I— I  know  it." 

"And,  Hattie,  don't  you  see?  Something  will  have 
to  be  done.  Don't  you  see  where  all  this  is  leading? 
Fred  has  been  gambling,  has  n't  he?  " 

"I— I'm  afraid  so." 

"And  you  know  he  drinks." 

"  Y-yes.  But  he  is  n't  going  to,  any  more.  He  said 
he  was  n't.  He  wrote  a  beautiful  letter.  He  said  if  his 
father  would  help  him  out  of  this  scrape,  he'd  never 
get  into  another  one,  and  he'd  show  him  how  much  he 
appreciated  it." 

"Good!  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  cried  Miss  Maggie. 
"He'll  come  out  all  right,  yet." 

"Of  course  he  will!"  Mr.  Smith,  over  at  the  win 
dow,  blew  his  nose  vigorously.  Mr.  Smith  had  not  sat 

247 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

down  since  Miss  Maggie's  entrance.  He  had  crossed 
to  the  window,  and  had  stood  looking  out  —  at 
nothing  —  all  through  Mrs.  Hattie's  story. 

"You  do  think  he  will,  don't  you?"  choked  Mrs. 
Hattie,  turning  from  one  to  the  other  piteously.  "He 
said  he  was  ashamed  of  himself;  that  this  thing  had 
been  an  awful  lesson  to  him,  and  he  promised  —  oh, 
he  promised  lots  of  things,  if  Jim  would  only  go  up  and 
help  him  out  of  this.  He'd  never,  never  have  to  again. 
But  he  will,  I  know  he  will,  if  that  Gaylord  fellow  stays 
there.  The  whole  thing  was  his  fault  —  I  know  it  was. 
I  hate  him!  I  hate  the  whole  family!" 

"Why,  Hattie,  I  thought  you  liked  them!" 

"I  don't.  They're  mean,  stuck-up  things,  and  they 
snub  me  awfully.  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  when  I  'm 
being  snubbed?  And  that  Gaylord  girl — she's  just 
as  bad,  and  she's  making  my  Bessie  just  like  her.  I 
got  Bess  into  the  same  school  with  her,  you  know,  and 
I  was  so  proud  and  happy.  But  I  'm  not  —  any  longer. 
Why,  my  Bess,  my  own  daughter,  actually  looks  down 
on  us.  She's  ashamed  of  her  own  father  and  mother 
-  and  she  shows  it.  And  it's  that  Gaylord  girl  that's 
done  it,  too,  I  believe.  I  thought  I  —  I  was  training 
my  daughter  to  be  a  lady  —  a  real  lady ;  but  I  never 
meant  to  train  her  to  look  down  on  —  on  her  own 
mother!" 

"I'm  afraid  Bessie —  needs  something  of  a  lesson," 
commented  Miss  Maggie  tersely.  "But  Bessie  will 
be  older,  one  of  these  days,  Hattie,  and  then  she'll  — 
know  more." 

"But  that's  what  I've  been  trying  to  teach  her  — 
'more,'  something  more  all  the  time,  Maggie,"  sighed 

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STILL  OTHER  FLIES 

Mrs.  Hattie,  wiping  her  eyes.  "And  I've  tried  to  re 
member  and  call  her  Elizabeth,  too.  —  but  I  can't. 
But,  somehow,  to-day,  nothing  seems  of  any  use,  any 
way.  And  even  if  she  learns  more  and  more,  I  don't 
see  as  it's  going  to  do  any  good.  I  have  n't  got  any 
friends  now.  I'm  not  fine  enough  yet,  it  seems,  for 
Mrs.  Gaylord  and  all  that  crowd.  They  don't  want 
me  among  them,  and  they  show  it.  And  all  my  old 
friends  are  so  envious  and  jealous  since  the  money 
came  that  they  don't  want  me,  and  they  show  it;  so  I 
don't  feel  comfortable  anywhere." 

"Never  mind,  dear,  just  stop  trying  to  live  as  you 
think  other  folks  want  you  to  live,  and  live  as  you 
want  to,  for  a  while." 

Mrs.  Hattie  smiled  faintly,  wiped  her  eyes  again, 
and  got  to  her  feet. 

"You  talk  just  like  Jim.   He's  always  saying  that." 

"Well,  just  try  it,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie,  helping 
her  visitor  into  the  luxurious  fur  coat.  "You've  no 
idea  how  much  more  comfort  you'll  take." 

"Would  I?"  Mrs.  Hattie's  eyes  were  wistful,  but 
almost  instantly  they  showed  an  alert  gleam  of  anger. 

"Well,  anyhow,  I'm  not  going  to  try  to  do  what 
those  Gaylords  do  any  longer.  And  —  and  you  're 
sure  Fred  won't  have  to  go  to  prison?" 

"I'm  very  sure,"  nodded  Miss  Maggie. 

"All  right,  then,  I  can  go  home  now  with  some 
comfort.  You  always  make  me  feel  better,  Maggie, 
and  you,  too,  Mr.  Smith.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you. 
Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Mr.  Smith. 

" Good-bye,"  said  Miss  Maggie.  "Now,  go  home  and 

249 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

go  to  bed,  and  don't  worry  any  more  or  you'll  have 
one  of  your  headaches." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her  visitor,  Miss  Maggie 
turned  and  sank  into  a  chair.  She  looked  worn  and 
white,  and  utterly  weary. 

"I  hope  she  won't  meet  Frank  or  Jane  anywhere." 
She  sighed  profoundly. 

"Why?  What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  think  they'd 
blame  her  —  about  this  unfortunate  affair  of  Fred's?" 

Miss  Maggie  sighed  again. 

"I  was  n't  thinking  of  that.  I  was  thinking  of  an 
other  matter.  I  just  came  from  Frank's,  and  —  " 

"Yes?"  Something  in  her  face  sent  a  questioning 
frown  to  Mr.  Smith's  own  countenance. 

"Do  you  remember  hearing  Flora  say  that  Jane  had 
bought  a  lot  of  the  Benson  gold-mine  stock?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Benson  has  failed;  and  they've  just  found 
out  that  that  gold-mine  stock  is  worth  —  about  two 
cents  on  a  dollar." 

"  Two  cents !   And  how  much  —  " 

"About  forty  thousand  dollars,"  said  Miss  Maggie 
wearily. 

Mr.  Smith  sat  down. 

"Well,  I '11  be  — " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence. 


CHAPTER  XX 

FRANKENSTEIN:   BEING  A   LETTER   FROM   JOHN 
SMITH  TO  EDWARD  D.  NORTON,  ATTORNEY  AT 

LAW 

MY  DEAR  NED  :  —  Was  n't  there  a  story  written  once 
about  a  fellow  who  created  some  sort  of  a  machine  man 
without  any  soul  that  raised  the  very  dickens  and  all  for 
him?  Frank  —  Frankenstein?  —  I  guess  that  was  it.  Well, 
I  've  created  a  Frankenstein  creature  —  and  I  'm  dead  .up 
against  it  to  know  what  to  do  with  him. 

Ned,  what  in  Heaven's  name  am  I  going  to  do  with  Mr. 
John  Smith?  Mr.  John  Smith,  let  me  tell  you,  is  a  very 
healthy,  persistent,  insistent,  important  person,  with  many 
kind  friends,  a  definite  position  in  the  world,  and  no  small 
degree  of  influence.  Worse  yet  (now  prepare  for  a  stunning 
blow,  Ned!),  Mr.  Smith  has  been  so  inconsiderate  as  to  fall 
in  love.  Yes,  he  has.  And  he  has  fallen  in  love  as  abso 
lutely  and  as  idiotically  as  if  he  were  twenty-one  instead 
of  fifty-two.  Now,  will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  Mr.  John 
Smith  is  going  to  fade  away  into  nothingness?  And,  even 
if  he  finds  the  way  to  do  that,  shall  he,  before  fading,  pop 
the  question  for  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  or  shall  he  trust  to 
Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton's  being  able  to  win  for  himself  the 
love  Mr.  John  Smith  fondly  hopes  is  his? 

Seriously,  joking  aside,  I'm  afraid  I've  made  a  mess  of 
things,  not  only  for  myself,  but  for  everybody  else. 

First,  my  own  future.  I'll  spare  you  rhapsodies,  Ned. 
They  say,  anyway,  that  there 's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool.  But 
I  will  admit  that  that  future  looks  very  dark  to  me  if  I  am 
not  to  have  the  companionship  of  the  little  woman,  Mag 
gie  Duff.  Oh,  yes,  it's  "Poor  Maggie."  You've  probably 
guessed  as  much.  As  for  Miss  Maggie  herself,  perhaps  it's 

251 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

conceited,  but  I  believe  she's  not  entirely  indifferent  to 
Mr.  John  Smith.  How  she'll  like  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton 
I  have  my  doubts;  but,  alas!  I  have  no  doubts  whatever 
as  to  what  her  opinion  will  be  of  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton's 
masquerading  as  Mr.  John  Smith!  And  I  don't  envy  Mr. 
Stanley  G.  Fulton  the  job  he's  got  on  his  hands  to  put  him 
self  right  with  her,  either.  But  there's  one  thing  he  can 
be  sure  of,  at  least;  if  she  does  care  for  Mr.  John  Smith,  it 
was  n't  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton's  money  that  was  the  bait. 

Poor  Maggie!  (There!  you  see  already  I  have  adopted 
the  Hillerton  vernacular.)  But  I  fear  Miss  Maggie  is  in 
deed  "poor"  now.  She  has  had  several  letters  that  I  don't 
like  the  looks  of,  and  a  call  from  a  villainous-looking  man 
from  Boston  —  one  of  your  craft,  I  believe  (begging  your 
pardon).  I  think  she's  lost  some  money,  and  I  don't  believe 
she  had  any  extra  to  lose.  She's  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  how 
ever,  and  she 's  determined  no  one  shall  find  out  she 's  lost 
any  money,  so  her  laugh  is  gayer  than  ever.  But  I  know, 
just  the  same.  I  can  hear  something  in  her  voice  that  is  n't 
laughter. 

Jove!  Ned,  what  a  mess  I  have  made  of  it!  I  feel  more 
than  ever  now  like  the  boy  with  his  ear  to  the  keyhole. 
These  people  are  my  friends  —  or,  rather,  they  are  Mr. 
John  Smith's  friends.  As  for  being  mine  —  who  am  I, 
Smith,  or  Fulton?  Will  they  be  Fulton's  friends,  after  they 
find  he  is  John  Smith?  Will  they  be  Smith's  friends,  even, 
after  they  find  he  is  Fulton?  Pleasant  position  I  ana  in! 
What? 

Oh,  yes,  I  can  hear  you  say  that  it  serves  me  right,  and 
that  you  warned  me,  and  that  I  was  deaf  to  all  remon 
strances.  It  does.  You  did.  I  was.  Now,  we'll  waste  no 
more  time  on  that.  I've  admitted  all  you  could  say.  I've 
acknowledged  my  error,  and  my  transgression  is  ever  be 
fore  me.  I  built  the  box,  I  walked  into  it,  and  I  deliberately 
shut  the  cover  down.  But  now  I  want  to  get  out.  I  've  got 
to  get  out  —  some  way.  I  can't  spend  the  rest  of  my  nat 
ural  existence  as  John  Smith,  hunting  Blaisdell  data- 

252 


FRANKENSTEIN 

though  sometimes  I  think  I  'd  be  willing  to,  if  it 's  the  only 
way  to  stay  with  Miss  Maggie.  I  tell  you,  that  little  woman 
can  make  a  home  out  of  - 

But  I  could  n't  stay  with  Miss  Maggie.  John  Smith 
would  n't  have  money  enough  to  pay  his  board,  to  say 
nothing  of  inviting  Miss  Maggie  to  board  with  him,  would 
he?  The  opening  of  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton's  last  will  and 
testament  on  the  first  day  of  next  November  will  effec 
tually  cut  off  Mr.  John  Smith's  source  of  income.  There  is 
no  provision  in  the  will  for  Mr.  John  Smith.  Smith  would 
have  to  go  to  work.  I  don't  think  he'd  like  that.  By  the 
way,  I  wonder :  do  you  suppose  John  Smith  could  earn  — 
his  salt,  if  he  was  hard  put  to  it?  Very  plainly,  then,  some 
thing  has  got  to  be  done  about  getting  John  Smith  to  fade 
away,  and  Stanley  G.  Fulton  to  appear  before  next  No 
vember. 

And  I  had  thought  it  would  be  so  easy !  Early  this  summer 
John  Smith  was  to  pack  up  his  Blaisdell  data,  bid  a  pleasant 
adieu  to  Hillerton,  and  betake  himself  to  South  America. 
In  due  course,  after  a  short  trip  to  some  obscure  Inca  city, 
or  down  some  little-known  river,  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton 
would  arrive  at  some  South  American  hotel  from  the  in 
terior,  and  would  take  immediate  passage  for  the  States, 
reaching  Chicago  long  before  November  first. 

There  would  be  a  slight  flurry,  of  course,  and  a  few  an 
noying  interviews  and  write-ups;  but  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Ful 
ton  always  was  known  to  keep  his  affairs  to  himself  pretty 
well,  and  the  matter  would  soon  be  put  down  as  merely 
another  of  the  multi-millionaire's  eccentricities.  The  whole 
thing  would  then  be  all  over,  and  well  over.  But  —  no 
where  had  there  been  taken  into  consideration  the  possi 
bilities  of  —  a  Maggie  Duff.  And  now,  to  me,  that  same 
Maggie  Duff  is  the  only  thing  worth  considering  —  any 
where.  So  there  you  are! 

And  even  after  all  this,  I  have  n't  accomplished  what  I 
set  out  to  do  —  that  is,  find  the  future  possessor  of  the 
Fulton  millions  (unless  Miss  Maggie  —  bless  her !  —  says 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"yes."  And  even  then,  some  one  will  have  to  have  them 
after  us).  I  have  found  out  one  thing,  though.  As  conditions 
are  now,  I  should  not  want  either  Frank,  or  James,  or  Flora  to 
have  them  —  not  unless  the  millions  could  bring  them  more 
happiness  than  these  hundred  thousand  apiece  have  brought. 

Honest,  Ned,  that  miserable  money  has  made  more  — 
But,  never  mind.  It's  too  long  a  story  to  write.  I'll  tell 
you  when  I  see  you  —  if  I  ever  do  see  you.  There 's  still 
the  possibility,  you  know,  that  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  is 
lost  in  darkest  South  America,  and  of  course  John  Smith 
can  go  to  work! 

I  believe  I  won't  sign  any  name  —  I  have  n't  got  any 
name  —  that  I  feel  really  belongs  to  me  now.  Still  I  might 
—  yes,  I  will  sign  it 

"  FRANKENSTEIN.  " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SYMPATHIES   MISPLACED 

THE  first  time  Mr.  Smith  saw  Frank  Blaisdell,  after 
Miss  Maggie's  news  of  the  forty-thousand-dollar  loss, 
he  tried,  somewhat  awkwardly,  to  express  his  interest 
and  sympathy.  But  Frank  Blaisdell  cut  him  short. 

"That's  all  right,  and  I  thank  you,"  he  cried  heart 
ily.  "And  I  know  most  folks  would  think  losing  forty 
thousand  dollars  was  about  as  bad  as  it  could  be.  Jane, 
now,  is  all  worked  up  over  it;  can't  sleep  nights,  and 
has  gone  back  to  turning  down  the  gas  and  eating  sour 
cream  so's  to  save  and  help  make  it  up.  But  me —  I 
call  it  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened." 

"Well,  really,"  laughed  Mr.  Smith;  "I'm  sure  that's 
a  very  delightful  way  to  look  at  it  —  if  you  can." 

"Well,  I  can;  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  It's  put  me 
back  where  I  belong  —  behind  the  counter  of  a  grocery 
store.  I've  bought  out  the  old  stand.  Oh,  I  had  enough 
left  for  that,  and  more!  Closed  the  deal  last  night. 
Gorry,  but  I  was  glad  to  feel  the  old  floor  under  my 
feet  again!" 

"But  I  thought  you —  you  were  tired  of  work,  and 
-  wanted  to  enjoy  yourself,"  stammered  Mr.  Smith. 

Frank  Blaisdell  laughed. 

"Tired  of  work —  wanted  to  enjoy  myself,  indeed! 
Yes,  I  know  I  did  say  something  like  that.  But,  let 
me  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Smith.  Talk  about  work!  —  I 
never  worked  so  hard  in  my  life  as  I  have  the  last  ten 

255 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

months  trying  to  enjoy  myself.  How  these  folks  can 
stand  gadding  'round  the  country  week  in  and  week 
out,  feeding  their  stomachs  on  a  French  dictionary 
instead  of  good  United  States  meat  and  potatoes  and 
squash,  and  spending  their  days  traipsing  off  to  see 
things  they  ain't  a  mite  interested  in,  and  their  nights 
trying  to  get  rested  so  they  can  go  and  see  some  more 
the  next  day,  I  don't  understand." 

Mr.  Smith  chuckled. 

"I'm  afraid  these  touring  agencies  would  n't  like  to 
have  you  write  their  ads  for  them,  Mr.  Blaisdell!" 

"Well,  they  hadn't  better  ask  me  to,"  smiled  the 
other  grimly.  "But  that  ain't  all.  Since  I  come  back 
I've  been  working  even  harder  trying  to  enjoy  myself 
here  at  home  —  knockin'  silly  little  balls  over  a  ten- 
acre  lot  in  a  game  a  healthy  ten-year-old  boy  would 
scorn  to  play." 

"But  how  about  your  new  car?  Did  n't  you  enjoy 
riding  in  that?"  bantered  Mr.  Smith. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  enjoyed  the  riding  well  enough;  but  I 
did  n't  enjoy  hunting  for  punctures,  putting  on  new 
tires,  or  burrowing  into  the  inside  of  the  critter  to  find 
out  why  she  did  n't  go!  And  that's  what  I  was  doing 
most  of  the  time.  I  never  did  like  machinery.  It  ain't 
in  my  line." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on  a  little  wist 
fully  :- 

"I  suspect,  Mr.  Smith,  there  ain't  anything  in  my 
line  but  groceries.  It's  all  I  know.  It's  all  I  ever  have 
known.  If —  if  I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again,  I'd 
do  different,  maybe.  I'd  see  if  I  couldn't  find  out 
what  there  was  in  a  picture  to  make  folks  stand  and 

256 


SYMPATHIES  MISPLACED 

stare  at  it  an  hour  at  a  time  when  you  could  see 
the  whole  thing  in  a  minute  —  and  it  wa'n't  worth 
lookin'  at,  anyway,  even  for  a  minute.  And  music, 
too.  Now,  I  like  a  good  tune  what  is  a  tune;  but 
them  caterwaulings  and  dirges  that  that  chap  Gray 
plays  on  that  fiddle  of  hjs  —  gorry,  Mr.  Smith,  I  'd 
rather  hear  the  old  barn  door  at  home  squeak  any 
day.  But  if  I  was  younger  I  'd  try  to  learn  to  like 
'em.  I  would!  Look  at  Flora,  now.  She  can  set  by 
the  hour  in  front  of  that  phonygraph  of  hers,  and  not 
know  it!" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  smiled  Mr.  Smith. 

"And  there's  books,  too,"  resumed  the  other,  still 
wistfully.  "I'd  read  books — if  I  could  stay  awake 
long  enough  to  do  it —  and  I'd  find  out  what  there 
was  in  'em  to  make  a  good  sensible  man  like  Jim 
Blaisdell  daft  over  'em  —  and  Maggie  Duff,  too. 
Why,  that  little  woman  used  to  go  hungry  sometimes, 
when  she  was  a  girl,  so  she  could  buy  a  book  she 
wanted.  I  know  she  did.  Why,  I 'd 'a' given  anything 
this  last  year  if  I  could  'a'  got  interested  —  really 
interested,  readin'.  I  could  'a'  killed  an  awful  lot  of 
time  that  way.  But  I  could  n't  do  it.  I  bought  a  lot 
of  'em,  too,  an'  tried  it;  but  I  expect  I  didn't  begin 
young  enough.  I  tell  ye,  Mr.  Smith,  I've  about  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  there  ain't  a  thing  in  the  world 
so  hard  to  kill  as  time.  I  've  tried  it,  and  I  know.  Why, 
I  got  so  I  could  n't  even  kill  it  eatin'  —  though  I  'most 
killed  myself  tryin'  to !  An'  let  me  tell  ye  another  thing. 
A  full  stomach  ain't  in  it  with  bein'  hungry  an'  know 
ing  a  good  dinner's  coming.  Why,  there  was  whole 
weeks  at  a  time  back  there  that  I  did  n't  know  the 

257 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

meaning  of  the  word  '  hungry.'  You'd  oughter  seen  the 
jolt  I  give  one  o'  them  waiter-chaps  one  day  when  he 
comes  up  with  his  paper  and  his  pencil  and  asks  me 
what  I  wanted.  'Want?' says  I.  ' There  ain't  but  one 
thing  on  this  earth  I  want,  and  you  can't  give  it  to 
me.  I  want  to  want  something.  I'm  tired  of  bein'  so 
blamed  satisfied  all  the  time!" 

"And  what  did —  Alphonso  say  to  that?"  chuckled 
Mr.  Smith  appreciatively. 

"Alphonso?  Oh,  the  waiter-fellow,  you  mean?  Oh, 
he  just  stared  a  minute,  then  mumbled  his  usual '  Yes, 
sir,  very  good,  sir,'  and  shoved  that  confounded  printed 
card  of  his  a  little  nearer  to  my  nose.  But,  there!  I 
guess  you've  heard  enough  of  this,  Mr.  Smith.  It's 
only  that  I  was  trying  to  tell  you  why  I'm  actually 
glad  we  lost  that  money.  It's  give  me  back  my  man's 
job  again." 

"Good!  All  right,  then.  I  won't  waste  any  more 
sympathy  on  you,"  laughed  Mr.  Smith. 

"Well,  you  needn't.  And  there's  another  thing. 
I  hope  it  '11  give  me  back  a  little  of  my  old  faith  in  my 
fellow-man." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Just  this.  I  won't  suspect  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  that  says  a  civil  word  to  me  now  of  having  designs 
on  my  pocketbook.  Why,  Mr.  Smith,  you  would  n't 
believe  it,  if  I  told  you,  the  things  that's  been  done 
and  said  to  get  a  little  money  out  of  me.  Of  course, 
the  open  gold-brick  schemes  I  knew  enough  to  dodge, 
'most  of  'em  (unless  you  count  in  that  darn  Benson 
mining  stock),  and  I  spotted  the  blackmailers  all  right, 
most  generally.  But  I  was  flabbergasted  when  a  woman 

258 


SYMPATHIES  MISPLACED 

tackled  the  job  and  began  to  make  love  to  me  —  actu 
ally  make  love  to  me! —  one  day  when  Jane's  back 
was  turned.  Gorry!  Do  I  look  such  a  fool  as  that,  Mr. 
Smith?  Well,  anyhow,  there  won't  be  any  more  of  that 
kind,  nor  anybody  after  my  money  now,  I  guess,"  he 
finished  with  a  sage  wag  of  his  head  as  he  turned  away. 

To  Miss  Maggie  that  evening  Mr.  Smith  said,  after 
recounting  the  earlier  portion  of  the  conversation:  "So 
you  see  you  were  right,  after  all.  I  shall  have  to  own  it 
up.  Mr.  Frank  Blaisdell  had  plenty  to  retire  upon,  but 
nothing  to  retire  to.  But  I'm  glad —  if;  he's  happy 
now." 

"And  he  is  n't  the  only  one  that  that  forty- thousand- 
dollar  loss  has  done  a  good  turn  to,"  nodded  Miss 
Maggie.  "Mellicent  has  just  been  here.  You  know 
she's  home  from  school.  It's  the  Easter  vacation,  any 
way,  but  she  is  n't  going  back.  It's  too  expensive." 

Miss  Maggie  spoke  with  studied  casualness,  but 
there  was  an  added  color  in  her  cheeks  —  Miss  Maggie 
always  flushed  a  little  when  she  mentioned  Mellicent's 
name  to  Mr.  Smith,  in  spite  of  her  indignant  efforts 
not  to  do  so. 

"Oh,  is  that  true?" 

"Yes.  Well,  the  Pennocks  had  a  dance  last  night, 
and  Mellicent  went.  She  said  she  had  to  laugh  to  see 
Mrs.  Pennock's  efforts  to  keep  Carl  away  from  her  — 
the  loss  of  the  money  is  known  everywhere  now,  and 
has  been  greatly  exaggerated,  I've  heard.  She  said 
that  even  Hibbard  Gaylord  had  the  air  of  one  try 
ing  to  let  her  down  easy.  Mellicent  was  immensely 
amused." 

".Where  was  Donald  Gray?" 

259 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Oh,  he  wasn't  there.     He  doesn't  move  in  the 
Pennock  crowd  much.  But  Mellicent  sees  him,  and  - 
and  everything's  all  right  there,  now.    That's  why 
Mellicent  is  so  happy." 

"You  mean—     Has  her  mother  given  in?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  Jane  was  at  the  dance,  too,  and  she 
saw  Carl,  and  she  saw  Hibbard  Gaylord.  And  she  was 
furious.  She  told  Mellicent  this  morning  that  she  had 
her  opinion  of  fellows  who  would  show  so  plainly  as 
Carl  Pennock  and  Hibbard  Gaylord  did  that  it  was 
the  money  they  were  after." 

"I'm  afraid — Mrs.  Jane  has  changed  her  shoes 
again,"  murmured  Mr.  Smith,  his  eyes  merry. 

"  Has  changed  —  oh ! "  Miss  Maggie's  puzzled  frown 
gave  way  to  a  laugh.  "Well,  yes,  perhaps  the  shoe  is 
on  the  other  foot  again.  But,  anyway,  she  does  n't 
love  Carl  or  Hibbard  any  more,  and  she  does  love 
Donald  Gray.  He  has  nt  let  the  loss  of  the  money 
make  any  difference  to  him,  you  see.  He's  been  even 
more  devoted,  if  anything.  She  told  Mellicent  this 
morning  that  he  was  a  very  estimable  young  man,  and 
she  liked  him  very  much.  Perhaps  you  see  now  why 
Mellicent  is —  happy." 

"Good!  I'm  glad  to  know  it,"  cried  Mr.  Smith 
heartily.  "I'm  glad-  His  face  changed  suddenly. 
His  eyes  grew  somber.  "  I  'm  glad  the  loss  of  the  money 
brought  them  some  happiness  —  if  the  possession  of 
it  did  n't,"  he  finished  moodily,  turning  to  go  to  his 
own  room.  At  the  hall  door  he  paused  and  looked  back 
at  Miss  Maggie,  standing  by  the  table,  gazing  after 
him  with  troubled  eyes.  "Did  Mellicent  say—  whether 
Fred  was  there?"  he  asked. 

200 


SYMPATHIES  MISPLACED 

"Yes.  She  said  he  was  n't  there.  He  did  n't  come 
home  for  this  vacation  at  all.  She  said  she  did  n't 
know  why.  I  suspect  Mellicent  does  n't  know  any 
thing  about  that  wretched  affair  of  his." 

"We'll  hope  not.  So  the  young  gentleman  didn't 
show  up  at  all?" 

"No,  nor  Bessie.  She  went  home  with  a  Long  Island 
girl.  Hattie  did  n't  go  to  the  Pennocks'  either.  Hattie 
has  —  has  been  very  different  since  this  affair  of 
Fred's.  I  think  it  frightened  her  terribly  —  it  was  so 
near  a  tragedy;  the  boy  threatened  to  kill  himself,  you 
know,  if  his  father  did  n't  help  him  out." 

"But  his  father  did  help  him  out!"  flared  the  man 
irritably. 

"Yes,  I  know  he  did;  and  I'm  afraid  he  found  things 
in  a  pretty  bad  mess  —  when  he  got  there,"  sighed 
Miss  Maggie.  "It  was  a  bad  mess  all  around." 

"You  are  exactly  right!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Smith  with 
sudden  and  peculiar  emphasis.  "It  is,  indeed,  a  bad 
mess  all  around,"  he  growled  as  he  disappeared  through 
the  door. 

Behind  him,  Miss  Maggie  still  stood  motionless, 
looking  after  him  with  troubled  eyes. 

As  the  spring  days  grew  warmer,  Miss  Maggie  had 
occasion  many  times  to  look  after  Mr.  Smith  with 
troubled  eyes.  She  could  not  understand  him  at  all. 
One  day  he  would  be  the  old  delightful  companion, 
genial,  cheery,  generously  donating  a  box  of  chocolates 
to  the  center-table  bonbon  dish  or  a  dozen  hothouse 
roses  to  the  mantel  vase.  The  next,  he  would  be  nerv 
ous,  abstracted,  almost  irritable.  Yet  she  could  see 
no  possible  reason  for  the  change. 

261 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Sometimes  she  wondered  fearfully  if  Mellicent  could 
have  anything  to  do  with  it.  Was  it  possible  that  he 
had  cared  for  Mellicent,  and  to  see  her  now  so  happy 
with  Donald  Gray  was  more  than  he  could  bear?  It 
did  not  seem  credible.  There  was  his  own  statement 
that  he  had  devoted  himself  to  her  solely  and  only 
to  help  keep  the  undesirable  lovers  away  and  give 
Donald  Gray  a  chance. 

Besides,  had  he  not  said  that  he  was  not  a  marry 
ing  man,  anyway?  To  be  sure,  that  seemed  a  pity — • 
a  man  so  kind  and  thoughtful  and  so  delightfully 
companionable!  But  then,  it  was  nothing  to  her,  of 
course  —  only  she  did  hope  he  was  not  feeling  un 
happy  over  Mellicent! 

Miss  Maggie  wished,  too,  that  Mr.  Smith  would  not 
bring  flowers  and  candy  so  often.  It  worried  her.  She 
felt  as  if  he  were  spending  too  much  money  —  and  she 
had  got  the  impression  in  some  way  that  he  did  not 
have  any  too  much  money  to  spend.  And  there  were 
the  expensive  motor  trips,  too  —  she  feared  Mr.  Smith 
was  extravagant.  Yet  she  could  not  tell  him  so,  of 
course.  He  never  seemed  to  realize  the  value  of  a 
dollar,  anyway,  and  he  very  obviously  did  not  know 
how  to  get  the  most  out  of  it.  Look  at  his  foolish  gen 
erosity  in  regard  to  the  board  he  paid  her! 

Miss  Maggie  wondered  sometimes  if  it  might  not  be 
worry  over  money  matters  that  was  making  him  so 
nervous  and  irritable  on  occasions  now.  Plainly  he 
was  very  near  the  end  of  his  work  there  in  Hillerton. 
He  was  not  getting  so  many  letters  on  Blaisdell  mat 
ters  from  away,  either.  For  a  month  now  he  had  done 
nothing  but  a  useless  repetition  of  old  work;  and  of 

262 


SYMPATHIES  MISPLACED 

late,  a  good  deal  of  the  time,  he  was  not  even  making 
that  pretense  of  being  busy.  For  days  at  a  time  he 
would  not  touch  his  records.  That  could  mean  but  one 
thing,  of  course;  his  work  was  done.  Yet  he  seemed  to 
be  making  no  move  toward  departure.  Not  that  she 
wanted  him  to  go.  She  should  miss  him  very  much 
when  he  went,  of  course.  But  she  did  not  like  to  feel 
that  he  was  staying  simply  because  he  had  nowhere  to 
go  and  nothing  to  do.  Miss  Maggie  did  not  believe  in 
able-bodied  men  who  had  nowhere  to  go  and  nothing 
to  do  —  and  she  wanted  very  much  to  believe  in  Mr. 
Smith. 

She  had  been  under  the  impression  that  he  was  get 
ting  the  Blaisdell  material  together  for  a  book,  and 
that  he  was  intending  to  publish  it  himself.  He  had 
been  very  happy  and  interested.  Now  he  was  unhappy 
and  uninterested.  His  book  must  be  ready,  but  he  was 
making  no  move  to  publish  it.  To  Miss  Maggie  this 
could  mean  but  one  thing:  some  financial  reverses  had 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  carry  out  his  plans,  and 
had  left  him  stranded  with  no  definite  aim  for  the 
future. 

She  was  so  sorry !  —  but  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
that  she  could  do.  She  had  tried  to  help  by  insisting 
that  he  pay  less  for  his  board;  but  he  had  not  only 
scouted  that  idea,  but  had  brought  her  more  choco 
lates  and  flowers  than  ever  —  for  all  the  world  as  if 
he  had  divined  her  suspicions  and  wished  to  disprove 
them. 

That  Mr.  Smith  was  trying  to  keep  something  from 
her,  Miss  Maggie  was  sure.  She  was  the  more  sure, 
perhaps,  because  she  herself  had  something  that  she 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

was  trying  to  keep  from  Mr.  Smith  —  and  she  thought 
she  recognized  the  symptoms. 

Meanwhile  April  budded  into  May,  and  May  blos 
somed  into  June;  and  June  brought  all  the  Blaisdells 
together  again  in  Hillerton. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WITH   EVERY   JIM   A   JAMES 

Two  days  after  Fred  Blaisdell  had  returned  from  col 
lege,  his  mother  came  to  see  Miss  Maggie.  Mr.  Smith 
was  rearranging  the  books  on  Miss  Maggie's  shelves 
and  trying  to  make  room  for  the  new  ones  he  had 
brought  her  through  the  winter.  When  Mrs.  Hattie 
came  in,  red-eyed  and  flushed-faced,  he  ceased  his 
work  at  once  and  would  have  left  the  room,  but  she 
stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"No,  don't  go.  You  know  all  about  it,  anyway, — 
and  I'd  just  as  soon  you  knew  the  rest.  So  you  can 
keep  right  to  work.  I  just  came  down  to  talk  things 
over  with  Maggie.  I  —  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  w-what 
I  'm  going  to  do  —  when  I  can't." 

"But  you  always  can,  dear,"  soothed  Miss  Maggie 
cheerily,  handing  her  visitor  a  fan  and  taking  a  chair 
near  her. 

Mr.  Smith,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  turned 
quietly  back  to  his  bookshelves. 

"But  I  can't,"  choked  Mrs.  Hattie.  "I  — I'm 
going  away." 

"Away?  Where?  What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Miss 
Maggie.  "Not  to  —  live ! " 

"Yes.  That's  what  I  came  to  tell  you." 

"  Why,  Hattie  Blaisdell,  where  are  you  going?" 

"To  Plainville—  next  month." 

"Plainville?  Oh,  well,  cheer  up!  That's  only  forty 

265 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

miles  from  here.    I  guess  we  can  still  see  each  other. 
Now,  tell  me,  what  does  all  this  mean?" 

"Well,  of  course,  it  began  with  Fred —  his  trouble, 
you  know." 

"But  I  thought  Jim  fixed  that  all  up,  dear." 

"Oh,  he  did.  He  paid  the  money,  and  nobody  there 
at  college  knew  a  thing  about  it.  But  there  were  — 
other  things.  Fred  told  us  some  of  them  night  before 
last.  He  says  he's  ashamed  of  himself,  but  that  he 
believes  there's  enough  left  in  him  to  make  a  man  of 
him  yet.  But  he  says  he  can't  do  it  —  there." 

'  You  mean —  he  does  n't  want  to  go  back  to  col 
lege?"  Miss  Maggie's  voice  showed  her  disappoint 
ment. 

"Oh,  he  wants  to  go  to  college —  but  not  there." 

"Oh,"  nodded  Miss  Maggie.  "I  see." 

"He  says  he's  had  too  much  money  to  spend  — 
and  that  't  would  n't  be  easy  not  to  spend  it  —  if  he 
was  back  there,  in  the  old  crowd.  So  he  wants  to  go 
somewhere  else." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  is  n't  it? " 

"Y-yes,  oh,  yes.  Jim  says  it  is.  He 's  awfully  happy 
over  it,  and  —  and  I  guess  I  am." 

"Of  course  you  are!  But  now,  what  is  this  about 
Phiinville?" 

"Oh,  that  grew  out  of  it  —  all  this.  Mr.  Hammond 
is  going  to  open  a  new  office  in  Plainville  and  he's 
offered  Jim  —  James  —  no,  Jim  —  I  'm  not  going  to 
call  him  'James*  any  more!  —  the  chance  to  manage 
it." 

"Well,  that's  fine,  I'm  sure." 

"Yes,  of  course  that  part  is  fine —  splendid.   He'll 
266 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

get  a  bigger  salary,  and  all  that,  and  —  and  I  guess 
I'm  glad  to  go,  anyway.  I  don't  like  Hillerton  any 
more.  I  have  n't  got  any  friends  here,  Maggie.  Of 
course,  I  would  n't  have  anything  to  do  with  the  Gay- 
lords  now,  after  what's  happened, —  that  boy  getting 
my  boy  to  drink  and  gamble,  and  —  and  everything. 
And  yet  —  you  know  how  I  've  strained  every  nerve 
for  years,  and  worked  and  worked  to  get  where  my 
children  could —  could  be  with  them!" 

"It  did  n't  pay,  did  it,  Hattie?" 

"I  guess  it  didn't!  They're  perfectly  horrid  — 
every  one  of  them,  and  I  hate  them!" 

"Oh,  Hattie,  Hattie!" 

"Well,  I  do.  Look  at  what  they've  done  to  Fred, 
and  Bessie,  too!  I  shan't  let  her  be  with  them  any 
more,  either.  There  are  n't  any  folks  here  we  can  be 
with  now.  That's  why  I  don't  mind  going  away.  All 
our  friends  that  we  used  to  know  don't  like  us  any 
more,  they're  so  jealous  on  account  of  the  money. 
Oh,  yes,  I  know  you  think  I'm  to  blame  for  that," 
she  went  on  aggrievedly.  "I  can  see  you  do,  by  your 
face.  Jim  says  so,  too.  And  maybe  I  am.  But  it  was 
just  so  I  could  get  ahead.  I  did  so  want  to  be  some 
body!" 

"I  know,  Hattie."  Miss  Maggie  looked  as  if  she 
would  like  to  say  something  more  —  but  she  did  not 
say  it. 

Over  at  the  bookcase  Mr.  Smith  was  abstractedly 
opening  and  shutting  the  book  in  his  hand.  His  gaze 
was  out  the  window  near  him.  He  had  not  touched 
the  books  on  the  shelves  for  some  time. 

"And  look  at  how  I've  tried  and  see  what  it  has 

267 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

come  to  —  Bessie  so  high-headed  and  airy  she  makes 
fun  of  us,  and  Fred  a  gambler  and  a  drunkard,  and 
'most  a  thief.  And  it's  all  that  horrid  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars!" 

The  book  in  Mr.  Smith's  hand  slipped  to  the  floor 
with  a  bang;  but  no  one  was  noticing  Mr.  Smith. 

"Oh,  Hattie,  don't  blame  the  hundred  thousand 
dollars,"  cried  Miss  Maggie. 

"Jim  says  it  was,  and  Fred  does,  too.  They  talked 
awfully.  Fred  said  it  was  all  just  the  same  kind  of  a 
way  that  I'd  tried  to  make  folks  call  Jim  'James.' 
He  said  I  'd  been  trying  to  make  every  single  '  Jim '  we 
had  into  a  'James,'  until  I'd  taken  away  all  the  fun 
of  living.  And  I  suppose  maybe  he's  right,  too." 
Mrs.  Hattie  sighed  profoundly.  "Well,  anyhow,  I'm 
not  going  to  do  it  any  more.  There  is  n't  any  fun  in  it, 
anyway.  It  does  n't  make  any  difference  how  hard 
I  tried  to  get  ahead,  I  always  found  somebody  else  a 
little  '  aheader,'  as  Benny  calls  it.  So  what 's  the  use?  " 

"There  isn't  any  use — in  that  kind  of  trying, 
Hattie." 

"  No,  I  suppose  there  is  n't.  Jim  said  I  was  like  the 
little  boy  that  they  asked  what  would  make  him  the 
happiest  of  anything  in  the  world,  and  he  answered, 
*  Everything  that  I  have  n't  got.'  And  I  suppose  I 
have  been  something  like  that.  But  I  don't  see  as 
I'm  any  worse  than  other  folks.  Everybody  goes  for 
money ;  but  I  'm  sure  I  don't  see  why  —  if  it  does  n't 
make  them  any  happier  than  it  has  me!  Well,  I  must 
be  going."  Mrs.  Hattie  rose  wearily.  "  We  shall  begin 
to  pack  the  first  of  the  month.  It  looks  like  a  moun 
tain  to  me,  but  Jim  and  Fred  say  they  '11  help,  and  —  " 

268 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

Mr.  Smith  did  not  hear  any  more,  for  Miss  Maggie 
and  her  guest  had  reached  the  hall  and  had  closed  the 
door  behind  them.  But  when  Miss  Maggie  returned, 
Mr.  Smith  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room  nerv 
ously. 

"Well,"  he  demanded  with  visible  irritation,  as 
soon  as  she  appeared,  "will  you  kindly  tell  me  if  there 
is  anything —  desirable —  that  that  confounded  money 
has  done?  " 

Miss  Maggie  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"You  mean —  Jim  Blaisdell's  money?"  she  asked. 

"I  mean  all  the  money — I  mean  the  three  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  that  those  three  people  re 
ceived.  Has  it  ever  brought  any  good  or  happiness  — 
anywhere?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie,  a  little 
sadly.  "But—  '  Her  countenance  changed  abruptly. 
A  passionate  earnestness  came  to  her  eyes.  "Don't 
blame  the  money  —  blame  the  spending  of  it !  The 
money  is  n't  to  blame.  The  dollar  that  will  buy  tick 
ets  to  the  movies  will  just  as  quickly  buy  a  good  book; 
and  if  you're  hungry,  it's  up  to  you  whether  you  put 
your  money  into  chocolate  eclairs  or  roast  beef.  Is 
the  money  to  blame  that  goes  for  a  whiskey  bill  or  a 
gambling  debt  instead  of  for  shoes  and  stockings  for 
the  family?" 

"Why,  n-no."  Mr.  Smith  had  apparently  lost 
his  own  irritation  in  his  amazement  at  hers.  "Wrhy, 
Miss  Maggie,  you  —  you  seem  worked  up  over  this 
matter." 

"I  am  worked  up.  I'm  always  worked  up —  over 
money.  It's  been  money,  money,  money,  ever  since 

269 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

I  could  remember!  We're  all  after  it,  and  we  all  want 
it,  and  we  strain  every  nerve  to  get  it.  We  think  it's 
going  to  bring  us  happiness.  But  it  won't  —  unless 
we  do  our  part.  And  there  are  some  things  that  even 
money  can't  buy.  Besides,  it  is  n't  the  money  that  does 
the  things,  anyway, —  it's  the  man  behind  the  money. 
What  do  you  think  money  is  good  for,  Mr.  Smith?  " 

Mr.  Smith,  now  thoroughly  dazed,  actually  blinked 
his  eyes  at  the  question,  and  at  the  vehemence  with 
which  it  was  hurled  into  his  face. 

"Why,  Miss  Maggie,  it—  it—  I—  I  —  " 

"It  is  n't  good  for  anything  unless  we  can  exchange 
it  for  something  we  want,  is  it?" 

"Why,  I —  I  suppose  we  can  give  it  — ' 

"But  even  then  we're  exchanging  it  for  something 
we  want,  are  n't  we?  We  want  to  make  the  other 
fellow  happy,  don't  we?  " 

"Well,  yes,  we  do."  Mr.  Smith  spoke  with  sudden 
fervor.  "But  it  does  n't  always  work  that  way.  Look 
at  the  case  right  here.  Now,  very  likely  this  —  er  — 
Mr.  Fulton  thought  those  three  hundred  thousand 
dollars  were  going  to  make  these  people  happy.  Per 
sonification  of  happiness  —  that  woman  was,  a  few 
minutes  ago,  wasn't  she?"  Mr.  Smith  had  regained 
his  air  of  aggrieved  irritation. 

"No,  she  wasn't.  But  that  wasn't  the  money's 
fault.  It  was  her  own.  She  did  n't  know  how  to  spend 
it.  And  that's  just  what  I  mean  \vhen  I  say  we've 
got  to  do  our  part  —  money  won't  buy  happiness, 
unless  we  exchange  it  for  the  things  that  will  bring 
happiness.  If  we  don't  know  how  to  get  any  happi 
ness  out  of  five  dollars,  we  won't  know  how  to  get  it 

270 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

out  of  five  hundred,  or  five  thousand,  or  five  hundred 
thousand,  Mr.  Smith.  I  don't  mean  that  we'll  get 
the  same  amount  out  of  five  dollars,  of  course, — 
though  I  've  seen  even  that  happen  sometimes !  —  but 
I  mean  that  we  've  got  to  know  how  to  spend  five  dol 
lars —  and  to  make  the  most  of  it." 

"I  reckon —  you're  right,  Miss  Maggie." 

"I  know  I'm  right,  and  't  is  n't  the  money's  fault 
when  things  go  wrong.  Money's  all  right.  I  love 
money.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  —  we're  taught  that  the  love 
of  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil.  But  I  don't  think  it 
should  be  so — necessarily.  I  think  money's  one  of 
the  most  wonderful  things  in  the  world.  It's  more 
than  a  trust  and  a  gift  —  it 's  an  opportunity,  and  a 
test.  It  brings  out  what's  strongest  in  us,  every  time. 
And  it  does  that  whether  it 's  five  dollars  or  five  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars.  If  —  if  we  love  chocolate  eclairs 
and  the  movies  better  than  roast  beef  and  good  books, 
we're  going  to  buy  them,  whether  they're  chocolate 
eclairs  and  movies  on  five  dollars,  or  or  —  champagne 
suppers  and  Paris  gowns  on  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars!" 

"Well,  by  —  by  Jove!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Smith, 
rather  feebly. 

Miss  Maggie  gave  a  shamefaced  laugh  and  sank 
back  in  her  chair. 

"You  don't  know  what  to  think  of  me,  of  course; 
and  no  wonder,"  she  sighed.  "But  I've  felt  so  bad 
over  this  —  this  money  business  right  here  under  my 
eyes.  I  love  them  all,  every  one  of  them.  And  you 
know  how  it's  been,  Mr.  Smith.  Hasn't  it  worked 
out  to  prove  just  what  I  say?  Take  Hattie  this  after- 

271 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

noon.  She  said  that  Fred  declared  she'd  been  try 
ing  to  make  every  one  of  her  'Jims'  a  'James,'  ever 
since  the  money  came.  But  he  forgot  that  she  did  that 
very  same  thing  before  it  came.  All  her  life  she's  been 
trying  to  make  five  dollars  look  like  ten;  so  when  she 
got  the  hundred  thousand,  it  was  n't  six  months  be 
fore  she  was  trying  to  make  that  look  like  two  hun 
dred  thousand." 

"I  reckon  you're  right." 

"Jane  is  just  the  opposite.  Jane  used  to  buy  in 
grain  carpets  and  cheap  chairs  and  cover  them  with 
mats  and  tidies  to  save  them." 

"You're  right  she  did!" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  appreciatively. 

"They  got  on  your  nerves,  too,  did  n't  they?  Such 
Jayers  upon  layers  of  covers  for  everything !  It  brought 
me  to  such  a  pass  that  I  went  to  the  other  extreme. 
I  would  n't  protect  anything —  which  was  very  repre 
hensible,  of  course.  Well,  now  she  has  pretty  dishes 
and  solid  silver —  but  she  hides  them  in  bags  and 
boxes,  and  never  uses  them  except  for  company. 
She  does  n't  take  any  more  comfort  with  them  than 
she  did  with  the  ingrain  carpets  and  cheap  chairs.  Of 
course,  that's  a  little  thing.  I  only  mentioned  it  to 
illustrate  my  meaning.  Jane  does  n't  know  how  to 
play.  She  never  did.  When  you  can't  spend  five  cents 
out  of  a  hundred  dollars  for  pleasure  without  wincing, 
you  need  n't  expect  you're  going  to  spend  five  dollars 
out  of  a  hundred  thousand  without  feeling  the  pinch," 
laughed  Miss  Maggie. 

"And  Miss  Flora?  You  haven't  mentioned  her," 
observed  Mr.  Smith,  a  little  grimly. 

272 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

Miss  Maggie  smiled;  then  she  sighed. 

"Poor  Flora —  and  when  she  tried  so  hard  to  quiet 
her  conscience  because  she  had  so  much  money!  But 
you  know  how  that  was.  You  helped  her  out  of  that 
scrape.  And  she's  so  grateful!  She  told  me  yesterday 
that  she  hardly  ever  gets  a  begging  letter  now." 

"No;  and  those  she  does  get  she  investigates,"  as 
serted  Mr.  Smith.  "So  the  fakes  don't  bother  her 
much  these  days.  And  she's  doing  a  lot  of  good,  too, 
in  a  small  way." 

"She  is,  and  she's  happy  now,"  declared  Miss 
Maggie,  "except  that  she  still  worries  a  little  because 
she  is  so  happy.  She's  dismissed  the  maid  and  does 
her  own  work  —  I  'm  afraid  Miss  Flora  never  was  cut 
out  for  a  fine-lady  life  of  leisure,  and  she  loves  to  put 
ter  in  the  kitchen.  She  says  it's  such  a  relief,  too,  not 
to  keep  dressed  up  in  company  manners  all  the  time, 
and  not  to  have  that  horrid  girl  spying  'round  all  day 
to  see  if  she  behaves  proper.  But  Flora's  a  dear." 

"She  is!  and  I  reckon  it  worked  the  best  with  her 
of  any  of  them." 

"Worked?"  hesitated  Miss  Maggie. 

"Er — that  is,  I  mean,  perhaps  she's  made  the 
best  use  of  the  hundred  thousand,"  stammered  Mr. 
Smith.  "She's  been —  er —  the  happiest." 

"Why,  y-yes,  perhaps  she  has,  when  you  come  to 
look  at  it  that  way." 

"But  you  wouldn't — er — advise  this  Mr.  Ful 
ton  to  leave  her —  his  twenty  millions?" 

"Mercy!"  laughed  Miss  Maggie,  throwing  up  both 
hands.  "She'd  faint  dead  away  at  the  mere  thought 
of  it." 

273 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Humph!  Yes,  I  suppose  so."  Mr.  Smith  turned 
on  his  heel  and  resumed  his  restless  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room.  From  time  to  time  he  glanced  fur 
tively  at  Miss  Maggie.  Miss  Maggie,  her  hands  idly 
resting  in  her  lap,  palms  upward,  was  gazing  fixedly 
at  nothing. 

"Of  just  what—  are  you  thinking?"  he  demanded 
at  last,  coming  to  a  pause  at  her  side. 

"I  was  thinking—  of  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,"  she 
answered,  not  looking  up. 

"Oh,  you  were!"  There  was  an  odd  something  in 
Mr.  Smith's  voice. 

"Yes.  I  was  wondering —  about  those  twenty  mil 
lions." 

"Oh,  you  were!"  The  odd  something  had  increased, 
but  Miss  Maggie's  eyes  were  still  dreamily  fixed  on 
space. 

"Yes.  I  was  wondering  what  he  had  done  with 
them." 

"Had  done  with  them!" 

"Yes,  in  the  letter,  I  mean."  She  looked  up  now 
in  faint  surprise.  "Don't  you  remember?  There  was 
a  letter  —  a  second  letter  to  be  opened  in  two  years' 
time.  They  said  that  that  was  to  dispose  of  the  re 
mainder  of  the  property  —  his  last  will  and  testa 
ment." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember,"  assented  Mr.  Smith,  turn 
ing  on  his  heel  again.  "Then  you  think —  Mr.  Ful 
ton  is — dead?"  Mr.  Smith  was  very  carefully  not 
meeting  Miss  Maggie's  eyes. 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so."  Miss  Maggie  turned 
back  to  her  meditative  gazing  at  nothing.  "The  two 

274 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

years  are  nearly  up,  you  know,  —  I  was  talking  with 
Jane  the  other  day  —  just  next  November." 

"Yes,  I  know."  The  words  were  very  near  a  groan, 
but  at  once  Mr.  Smith  hurriedly  repeated,  "I  know — • 
I  know!"  very  lightly,  indeed,  with  an  apprehensive 
glance  at  Miss  Maggie. 

"So  it  seems  to  me  if  he  were  alive  that  he'd  be  back 
by  this  time.  And  so  I  was  wondering  —  about  those 
millions,"  she  went  on  musingly.  "What  do  you  sup 
pose  he  has  done  with  them?"  she  asked,  with  sudden 
animation,  turning  full  upon  him. 

"Why,  I—  I-  How  should  I  know?"  stuttered 
Mr.  Smith,  a  swift  crimson  dyeing  his  face. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  merrily. 

"You  would  n't,  of  course —  but  that  need  n't  make 
you  look  as  if  I'd  intimated  that  you  had  them!  I 
was  only  asking  for  your  opinion,  Mr.  Smith,"  she 
twinkled,  with  mischievous  eyes. 

"Of  course!"  Mr.  Smith  laughed  now,  a  little  pre 
cipitately.  "But,  indeed,  Miss  Maggie,  you  turned  so 
suddenly  and  the  question  was  so  unexpected  that 
I  felt  like  the  small  boy  who,  being  always  blamed  for 
everything  at  home  that  went  wrong,  answered  trem 
blingly,  when  the  teacher  sharply  demanded,  'Who 
made  the  world?'  'Please,  ma'am,  I  did;  but  I'll 
never  do  it  again!' ' 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  when  Miss  Maggie 
had  done  laughing  at  his  little  story,  "suppose  I  turn 
the  tables  on  you?  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Fulton  has 
done —  with  that  money?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think."  Miss  Maggie  shifted 
her  position,  her  face  growing  intently  interested  again. 

275 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I've  been  trying  to  remember  what  I  know  of  the 
man." 

"What  you —  know  of  him!"  cried  Mr.  Smith,  with 
startled  eyes. 

"Yes,  from  the  newspaper  and  magazine  accounts 
of  him.  Of  course,  there  was  quite  a  lot  about  him  at 
the  time  the  money  came;  and  Flora  let  me  read  some 
things  she'd  saved,  in  years  gone.  Flora  was  always 
interested  in  him,  you  know." 

"Well,  what  did  you  find?" 

"  Why,  not  much,  really,  about  the  man.  Besides, 
very  likely  what  I  did  find  was  n't  true.  Oh,  he  wras 
eccentric.  Everything  mentioned  that.  But  I  was 
trying  to  find  out  how  he'd  spent  his  money  himself. 
I  thought  that  might  give  me  a  clue  —  about  the  will, 
I  mean." 

"Oh,  I  see." 

"Yes;  but  I  did  n't  find  much.  In  spite  of  his  re 
ported  eccentricities,  he  seems  to  me  to  have  done 
nothing  very  extraordinary." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  murmured  Mr.  Smith. 

"He  does  n't  seem  to  have  been  very  bad." 

"No?"   Mr.  Smith's  eyebrows  went  up. 

"Nor  very  good  either,  for  that  matter." 

"Sort  of  a — nonentity,  perhaps."  Mr.  Smith's 
lips  snapped  tight  shut. 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  softly. 

"Perhaps — though  I  suppose  he  couldn't  really 
be  that  —  not  very  well  —  with  twenty  millions,  could 
he?  But  I  mean,  he  was  n't  very  bad,  nor  very  good. 
He  did  n't  seem  to  be  dissipated,  or  mixed  up  in  any 
scandal,  or  to  be  recklessly  extravagant,  like  so  many 

276 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

rich  men.  On  the  other  hand,  I  could  n't  find  that 
he'd  done  any  particular  good  in  the  world.  Some 
charities  were  mentioned,  but  they  were  perfunctory, 
apparently,  and  I  don't  believe,  from  the  accounts, 
that  he  ever  really  interested  himself  in  any  one — • 
that  he  ever  really  cared  for  —  any  one." 

"Oh,  you  don't!"  If  Miss  Maggie  had  looked  up, 
she  would  have  met  a  most  disconcerting  expression 
in  the  eyes  bent  upon  her.  But  Miss  Maggie  did  not 
look  up. 

"No,"  she  proceeded  calmly.  "Why,  he  didn't 
even  have  a  wife  and  children  to  stir  him  from  his  self 
ishness.  He  had  a  secretary,  of  course,  and  he  prob 
ably  never  saw  half  his  begging  letters.  I  can  imagine 
his  tossing  them  aside  with  a  languid  'Fix  them  up, 
James,  —  give  the  creatures  what  they  want,  only 
don't  bother  me.'  ' 

"He  never  did!"  stormed  Mr.  Smith;  then,  hastily: 
"I'm  sure  he  never  did.  You  wrong  him.  I'm  sure 
you  wrong  him." 

"Maybe  I  do,"  sighed  Miss  Maggie.  "But  when 
I  think  of  what  he  might  do—  Twenty  millions!  I 
can't  grasp  it.  Can  you?  But  he  didn't  do — any 
thing —  worth  while  with  them,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
when  he  was  living,  so  that 's  why  I  can't  imagine  what 
his  will  may  be.  Probably  the  same  old  perfunctory 
charities,  however,  with  the  Chicago  law  firm  instead 
of  'James'  as  disburser — unless,  of  course,  Hattie's 
expectations  are  fulfilled,  and  he  divides  them  among 
the  Blaisdells  here." 

"You  think — there's  something  worth  while  he 
might  have  done  with  those  millions,  then?"  pleaded 

277 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Mr.  Smith,  a  sudden  peculiar  wistfulness  in  his 
eyes. 

"Something  he  might  have  done  with  them  I"  ex 
claimed  Miss  Maggie.  "Why,  it  seems  to  me  there's 
no  end  to  what  he  might  have  done  —  with  twenty 
millions." 

"What  would  you  do?" 

"I? —  do  with  twenty  millions?"  she  breathed. 

"  Yes,  you."  Mr.  Smith  came  nearer,  his  face  work 
ing  with  emotion.  "Miss  Maggie,  if  a  man  with 
twenty  millions  —  that  is,  could  you  love  a  man  with 
twenty  millions,  if  —  if  Mr.  Fulton  should  ask  you 
-  if  /  were  Mr.  Fulton  —  if  -  His  countenance 
changed  suddenly.  He  drew  himself  up  with  a  cry 
of  dismay.  "Oh,  no — no — I've  spoiled  it  all  now. 
That  is  n't  what  I  meant  to  say  first.  I  was  going  to 
find  out  —  I  mean,  I  was  going  to  tell  —  Oh,  good 
Heavens,  what  a —  That  confounded  money  — 
again!" 

Miss  Maggie  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Why,  Mr.  Smith,  w-what  — "  Only  the  crisp 
shutting  of  the  door  answered  her.  With  a  beseeching 
look  and  a  despairing  gesture  Mr.  Smith  had  gone. 

Once  again  Miss  Maggie  stood  looking  after  Mr. 
Smith  with  dismayed  eyes.  Then,  turning  to  sit  down, 
she  came  face  to  face  with  her  own  image  in  the  mirror. 

"Well,  now  you've  done  it,  Maggie  Duff,"  she 
whispered  wrathfully  to  the  reflection  in  the  glass. 
"And  you've  broken  his  heart!  He  was —  was  going 
to  say  something — I  know  he  was.  And  you?  You 
Ve  talked  money,  money,  money  to  him  for  an  hour. 
You  said  you  loved  money;  and  you  told  what  you'd 

278 


WITH  EVERY  JIM  A  JAMES 

do  —  if  you  had  twenty  millions  of  dollars.  And  you 
know  —  you  know  he 's  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  and 
that  just  now  he's  more  than  ever  plagued  over  — 
money!  And  yet  you —  Twenty  millions  of  dollars! 
As  if  that  counted  against  —  " 

With  a  little  sobbing  cry  Miss  Maggie  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sat  down,  helplessly,  angrily. 


CHAPTER  XXm 

REFLECTIONS  —  MIRRORED   AND    OTHERWISE 

Miss  MAGGIE  was  still  sitting  in  the  big  chair  with 
her  face  in  her  hands  when  the  door  opened  and  Mr, 
Smith  came  in.  He  was  very  white. 

Miss  Maggie,  dropping  her  hands  and  starting  up 
at  his  entrance,  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face  in  the 
mirror  in  front  of  her.  With  a  furtive,  angry  dab  of 
her  fingers  at  her  wet  eyes,  she  fell  to  rearranging  the 
vases  and  photographs  on  the  mantel. 

"Oh,  back  again,  Mr.  Smith?"  she  greeted  him, 
with  studied  unconcern. 

Mr.  Smith  shut  the  door  and  advanced  deter 
minedly. 

"Miss  Maggie,  I've  got  to  face  this  thing  out,  of 
course.  Even  if  I  had  —  made  a  botch  of  things  at 
the  very  start,  it  did  n't  help  any  to  —  to  run  away, 
as  I  did.  And  I  was  a  coward  to  do  it.  It  was  only 
because  I —  I-  But  never  mind  that.  I'm  coming 
now  straight  to  the  point.  Miss  Maggie,  will  you  - 
marry  me?" 

The  photograph  in  Miss  Maggie's  hand  fell  face 
down  on  the  shelf.  Miss  Maggie's  fingers  caught  the 
edge  of  the  mantel  in  a  convulsive  grip.  A  swift  glance 
in  the  mirror  before  her  disclosed  Mr.  Smith's  face 
just  over  her  shoulder,  earnest,  pleading,  and  still 
very  white.  She  dropped  her  gaze,  and  turned  half 
away.  She  did  not  want  to  meet  Mr.  Smith's  eyes  just 

280 


REFLECTIONS  — MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE 

then.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  only  a  half -choking  little 
breath  came. 

Then  Mr.  Smith  spoke  again. 

"Miss  Maggie,  please  don't  say  no —  yet.  Let  me 
—  explain  —  about  how  I  came  here,  and  all  that.  But 
first,  before  I  do  that,  let  me  tell  you  how  —  how  I 
love  you —  how  I  have  loved  you  all  these  long  months. 
I  .think  I  loved  you  from  the  first  time  I  saw  you. 
Whatever  comes,  I  want  you  to  know  that.  And  if 
you  could  care  for  me  a  little  —  just  a  little,  I  'm  sure 
I  could  make  it  more  —  in  time,  so  you  would  marry 
me.  And  we  would  be  so  happy!  Don't  you  believe 
I'd  try  to  make  you  happy —  dear?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  murmured  Miss  Maggie,  still  with 
her  head  turned  away. 

"Good!  Then  all  you've  got  to  say  is  that  you'll 
let  me  try.  And  we  will  be  happy,  dear!  Why,  until 
I  came  here  to  this  little  house,  I  did  n't  know  what 
living,  real  living,  was.  And  I  have  been,  just  as  you 
said,  a  selfish  old  thing." 

Miss  Maggie,  with  a  start  of  surprise,  faced  the 
image  in  the  mirror;  but  Mr.  Smith  was  looking  at 
her,  not  at  her  reflection,  so  she  did  not  meet  his 
eyes. 

"Why,  I  never—  *'  she  stammered. 

"Yes,  you  did,  a  minute  ago.  Don't  you  remember? 
Oh,  of  course  you  did  n't  realize  —  everything,  and 
perhaps  you  wouldn't  have  said  it  if  you'd  known. 
But  you  said  it  —  and  you  meant  it,  and  I'm  glad  you 
said  it.  And,  dear  little  woman,  don't  you  see?  That's 
only  another  reason  why  you  should  say  yes.  You 
can  show  me  how  not  to  be  selfish." 

281 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"But,  Mr.  Smith,  I  —  I — "  stammered  Miss  Mag 
gie,  still  with  puzzled  eyes. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  You  can  show  me  howr  to  make  life 
really  worth  while,  for  me,  and  for  —  for  lots  of  others. 
And  now  I  have  some  one  to  care  for.  And,  oh,  little 
woman,  I  —  I  care  so  much,  it  can't  be  that  you  — 
you  don't  care  —  any!" 

Miss  Maggie  caught  her  breath  and  turned  away 
again. 

"Don't  you  care—  a  little?" 

The  red  crept  up  Miss  Maggie's  neck  to  her  forehead, 
but  still  she  was  silent. 

"If  I  could  only  see  your  eyes,"  pleaded  the  man. 
Then,  suddenly,  he  saw  Miss  Maggie's  face  in  the  mir 
ror.  The  next  moment  Miss  Maggie  herself  turned  a 
little,  and  in  the  mirror  their  eyes  met  —  and  in  the 
mirror  Mr.  Smith  found  his  answer. 

"You  do  care —  a  little!"  he  breathed,  as  he  took 
her  in  his  arms. 

"But  I  don't!"  Miss  Maggie  shook  her  head  vigor 
ously  against  his  coat-collar. 

"What?"  Mr.  Smith's  clasp  loosened  a  little. 

"I  care —  a  great  deal,"  whispered  Miss  Maggie  to 
the  coat-collar,  with  shameless  emphasis. 

"You — darling!"  triumphed  the  man,  bestowing  a 
rapturous  kiss  on  the  tip  of  a  small  pink  ear —  the  near 
est  point  to  Miss  Maggie's  lips  that  was  available,  until, 
with  tender  determination,  he  turned  her  face  to  his. 

A  moment  later,  blushing  rosily,  Miss  Maggie  drew 
herself  away. 

"There,  we've  been  quite  silly  enough —  old  iolks 
like  us." 

282 


REFLECTIONS  —  MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE 

"We're  not  silly.  Love  is  never  silly — not  real 
love  like  ours.  Besides,  we're  only  as  old  as  we  feel. 
Do  you  feel  old?  I  don't.  I've  lost —  years  since  this 
morning.  And  you  know  I'm  just  beginning  to  live 

-  really  live,  anyway!  I  feel —  twenty-one." 

"I'm  afraid  you  act  it,"  said  Miss  Maggie,  with 
mock  severity. 

"  You  would —  if  you'd  been  through  what  I  have," 
retorted  Mr.  Smith,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "And 
when  I  think  what  a  botch  I  made  of  it,  to  begin  with 

-  You  see,  I  did  n't  mean  to  start  off  with  that,  first 
thing;  and  I  was  so  afraid  that —  that  even  if  you 
did  care  for  John  Smith,  you  would  n't  for  me — 
just  at  first.  But  you  do,  dear!"  At  arms'  length  he 
held  her  off,  his  hands  on  her  shoulders.   His  happy 
eyes  searching  her  face  saw  the  dawn  of  the  dazed 
question. 

"Wouldn't  care  for  you  if  I  did  for  John  Smith! 
Why,  you  are  John  Smith.  What  do  you  mean?"  she 
demanded,  her  eyes  slowly  sweeping  him  from  head  to 
foot  and  back  again.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Miss  Maggie ! "  Instinctively  his  tongue  went  back 
to  the  old  manner  of  address,  but  his  hands  still  held 
her  shoulders.  "You  don't  mean —  you  can't  mean 
that  —  that  you  did  n't  understand  —  that  you  don't 
understand  that  I  am  —  Oh,  good  Heavens !  Well,  I 
have  made  a  mess  of  it  this  time,"  he  groaned.  Releas 
ing  his  hold  on  her  shoulders,  he  turned  and  began  to 
tramp  up  and  down  the  room.  "Nice  little  John-Alden- 
Miles-Standish  affair  this  is  now,  upon  my  word !  Miss 
Maggie,  have  I  got  to —  to  propose  to  you  all  over 
again  for —  for  another  man,  now?" 

283 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"For  —  another  man!  I — I  don't  think  I  under 
stand  you."  Miss  Maggie  had  grown  a  little  white. 

"Then  you  don't  know — you  didn't  understand, 
a  few  minutes  ago,  when  I  —  I  spoke  first,  when  I 
asked  you  about  —  about  those  twenty  millions  — 

She  lifted  her  hand  quickly,  pleadingly. 

"Mr.  Smith,  please,  don't  let  's  bring  money  into  it 
at  all.  I  don't  care  —  I  don't  care  a  bit  if  you  have  rit 
got  any  money." 

Mr.  Smith's  jaw  dropped. 

"If  I  haven't  got  any  money!"  he  ejaculated 
stupidly. 

"No!  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  I  said  I  loved  money."  The 
rich  red  came  back  to  her  face  in  a  flood.  "  But  I  did  n't 
mean  —  -  And  it's  just  as  much  of  a  test  and  an  oppor 
tunity  when  you  don't  have  money  —  more  so,  if  any 
thing.  I  did  n't  mean  it — that  way.  I  never  thought 
of  —  of  how  you  might  take  it  —  as  if  I  wanted  it.  I 
don't.  Indeed,  I  don't!  Oh,  can't  you — understand?" 

"Understand!  Good  Heavens!"  Mr.  Smith  threw 
up  both  his  hands.  "And  I  thought  I'd  given  myself 
away!  Miss  Maggie."  He  came  to  her  and  stood  close, 
but  he  did  not  offer  to  touch  her.  "I  thought,  after 
I'd  said  what  I  did  about —  about  those  twenty  mil 
lions  that  you  understood —  that  you  knew  I  was  — 
Stanley  Fulton  himself." 

"That  you  were —  who?"  Miss  Maggie  stood  mo 
tionless,  her  eyes  looking  straight  into  his,  amazed, 
incredulous. 

"Stanley  Fulton.  I  am  Stanley  Fulton.  My  God! 
Maggie,  don't  look  at  me  like  that.  I  thought—  I  had 
told  you.  Indeed,  I  did!" 

284 


REFLECTIONS  —  MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE 

She  was  backing  away  now,  slowly,  step  by  step. 
Anger,  almost  loathing,  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
amazement  and  incredulity  in  her  eyes. 

"And  you  are  Mr.  Fulton?" 

"Yes,  yes!   But  —  " 

"And  you've  been  here  all  these  months —  yes, 
years  —  under  a  false  name,  pretending  to  be  what  you 
were  n't  —  talking  to  us,  eating  at  our  tables,  winning 
our  confidence,  letting  us  talk  to  you  about  yourself, 
even  pretending  that  —  -  Oh,  how  could  you?"  Her 
voice  broke. 

"Maggie,  dearest,"  he  begged,  springing  toward  her, 
"if  you'll  only  let  me  — " 

But  she  stopped  him  peremptorily,  drawing  herself 
to  her  full  height. 

"I  am  not  your  dearest,"  she  flamed  angrily.  "I  did 
not  give  my  love —  to  you." 

"Maggie!"  he  implored. 

But  she  drew  back  still  farther. 

"No!  I  gave  it  to  John  Smith — gentleman,  I 
supposed.  A  man — poor,  yes,  I  believed  him  poor; 
but  a  man  who  at  least  had  a  right  to  his  name!  I 
did  n't  give  it  to  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  spy,  trickster, 
who  makes  life  itself  a  masquerade  for  sport !  I  do  not 
know  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  and  —  I  do  not  wish  to." 
The  words  ended  in  a  sound  very  like  a  sob;  but  Miss 
Maggie,  with  her  head  still  high,  turned  her  back  and 
walked  to  the  window. 

The  man,  apparently  stunned  for  a  moment,  stood 
watching  her,  his  eyes  grieved,  dismayed,  hopeless. 
Then,  white-faced,  he  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
door.  With  his  hand  almost  on  the  knob  he  slowly 

285 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

wheeled  about  and  faced  the  woman  again.  He  hesi 
tated  visibly,  then  in  a  dull,  lifeless  voice  he  began  to 
speak. 

"Miss  Maggie,  before  John  Smith  steps  entirely  out 
of  your  life,  he  would  like  to  say  just  this,  please,  not 
in  justification,  but  in  explanation  of—"  of  Stanley  G. 
Fulton.  Fulton  did  not  intend  to  be  a  spy,  or  a  trickster, 
or  to  make  life  a  masquerade  for  —  sport.  He  was  a 
lonely  old  man —  he  felt  old.  He  had  no  wife  or  child. 
True,  he  had  no  one  to  care  for,  but  —  he  had  no  one 
to  care  for  him,  either.  Remember  that,  please.  He 
did  have  a  great  deal  of  money  —  more  than  he  knew 
what  to  do  with.  Oh,  he  tried  —  various  ways  of 
spending  it.  Never  mind  what  they  were.  They  are 
not  worth  speaking  of  here.  They  resulted,  chiefly, 
in  showing  him  that  he  was  n't  —  as  wise  as  he  might 
be  in  that  line,  perhaps." 

The  man  paused  and  wet  his  lips.  At  the  window 
Miss  Maggie  still  stood,  with  her  back  turned  as 
before. 

"The  time  came,  finally,"  resumed  the  man,  "when 
Fulton  began  to  wonder  what  would  become  of  his 
millions  when  he  was  done  with  them.  He  had  a  feeling 
that  he  would  like  to  will  a  good  share  of  them  to  some 
of  his  own  kin;  but  he  had  no  nearer  relatives  than 
some  cousins  back  East,  in  —  Hillerton." 

Miss  Maggie  at  the  window  drew  in  her  breath,  and 
held  it  suspended,  letting  it  out  slowly. 

"He  didn't  know  anything  about  these  cousins," 
went  on  the  man  dully,  wearily,  "and  he  got  to  won 
dering  what  they  would  do  with  the  money.  I  think 
he  felt,  as  you  said  to-day  that  you  feel,  that  one  must 

286 


REFLECTIONS  — MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE 

know  how  to  spend  five  dollars  if  one  would  get  the 
best  out  of  five  thousand.  So  Fulton  felt  that,  before 
he  gave  a  man  fifteen  or  twenty  millions,  he  would 
like  to  know —  what  he  would  probably  do  with  them. 
He  had  seen  so  many  cases  where  sudden  great  wealth 
had  brought  —  great  sorrow. 

"And  so  then  he  fixed  up  a  little  scheme;  he  would 
give  each  one  of  these  three  cousins  of  his  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  apiece,  and  then,  unknown  to  them, 
he  would  get  acquainted  with  them,  and  see  which  of 
them  would  be  likely  to  make  the  best  use  of  those 
twenty  millions.  It  was  a  silly  scheme,  of  course,  —  a 
silly,  absurd  foolishness  from  beginning  to  end.  It — " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  There  was  a  rush 
of  swift  feet,  a  swish  of  skirts,  then  full  upon  him  there 
fell  a  whirlwind  of  sobs,  clinging  arms,  and  incoher 
ent  ejaculations. 

"It  was  n't  silly  —  it  was  n't  silly.  It  was  perfectly 
splendid !  I  see  it  all  now.  I  see  it  all !  I  understand. 
Oh,  I  think  it  was  —  wonderful !  And  I  —  I  'm  so 
ashamed ! " 

Later  —  very  much  later,  when  something  like  lucid 
coherence  had  become  an  attribute  of  their  conversa 
tion,  as  they  sat  together  upon  the  old  sofa,  the  man 
drew  a  long  breath  and  said :  — 

"Then  I'm  quite  forgiven?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive." 

"And  you  consider  yourself  engaged  to  both  John 
Smith  and  Stanley  G.  Fulton?" 

"It  sounds  pretty  bad,  but — yes,"  blushed  Miss 
Maggie. 

"And  you  must  love  Stanley  G.  Fulton  just  exactly 
237 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

as   well  —  no,  a   little   better,   than    you    did   John 
Smith." 

"I '11  —  try  to  —  if  he's  as  lovable."  Miss  Maggie's 
head  was  at  a  saucy  tilt. 

"He'll  try  to  be;  but —  it  won't  be  all  play,  you 
know,  for  you.  You've  got  to  tell  him  what  to  do  with 
those  twenty  millions.  By  the  way,  what  will  you 
do  with  them?"  he  demanded  interestedly. 

Miss  Maggie  looked  up,  plainly  startled. 

"Why,  yes,  that's  so.    You —  you —  if  you're  Mr. 
Fulton,  you  have  got—     And  I  forgot  all  about  — 
those  twenty  millions.  And  they  're  yours,  Mr.  Smith ! " 

"No,  they're  not  Mr.  Smith's,"  objected  the  man. 
"They  belong  to  Fulton,  if  you  please.  Furthermore, 
can't  you  call  me  anything  but  that  abominable 
'Mr.  Smith'?  My  name  is  Stanley.  Y'ou  might  —  er 
—  abbreviate  it  to —  er  —  'Stan,'  now." 

"Perhaps  so —  but  I  shan't,"  laughed  Miss  Maggie, 

"not  yet.  You  may  be  thankful  I  have  wits  enough 
left  to  call  you  anything  —  after  becoming  engaged 
to  two  men  all  at  once." 

"And  with  having  the  responsibility  of  spending 
twenty  millions,  too." 

"Oh,  yes,  the  money!"  Her  eyes  began  to  shine. 
She  drew  another  long  breath.  "Oh,  we  can  do  so 
much  with  that  money!  Why,  only  think  what  is 
needed  right  here  —  better  milk  for  the  babies,  and  a 
community  house,  and  the  streets  cleaner,  and  a  new 
carpet  for  the  church,  and  a  new  hospital  with  — 

"But,  see  here,  are  n't  you  going  to  spend  some  of 
that  money  on  yourself?"  he  demanded.  "Is  n't  the.e 
something  you  want?  " 

288 


REFLECTIONS  —  MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE 

She  gave  him  a  merry  glance. 

"Myself?  Dear  me,  I  guess  I  am!  I'm  going  to 
Egypt,  and  China,  and  Japan —  with  you,  of  course; 
and  books  —  oh,  you  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  books 
as  I  shall  buy.  And  —  oh,  I  '11  spend  heaps  on  just  my 
selfish  self  —  you  see  if  I  don't!  But,  first,  —  oh,  there 
are  so  many  things  that  I  've  so  wanted  to  do,  and  it 's 
just  come  over  me  this  minute  that  now  I  can  do  them ! 
And  you  know  how  Hillerton  needs  a  new  hospital." 
Her  eyes  grew  luminous  and  earnest  again.  "And  I 
want  to  build  a  store  and  run  it  so  the  girls  can  live, 
and  a  factory,  too,  and  decent  homes  for  the  workmen, 
and  a  big  market,  where  they  can  get  their  food  at 
cost;  and  there's  the  playground  for  the  children, 
and  —  " 

But  Mr.  Smith  was  laughing,  and  lifting  both  hands 
in  mock  despair. 

"Look  here,"  he  challenged,  "I  thought  you  were 
marrying  me,  but  —  are  you  marrying  me  or  that  con 
founded  money?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  merrily. 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  you  see  —  "  She  stopped  short. 
An  odd  expression  came  to  her  eyes. 

Suddenly  she  laughed  again,  and  threw  into  his  eyes 
a  look  so  merry,  so  whimsical,  so  altogether  challeng 
ing,  that  he  demanded :  — 

"Well,  what  is  it  now?" 

"Oh,  it's  so  good,  I  have —  half  a  mind  to  tell  you." 

"Of  course  you'll  tell  me.  Where  are  you  going?" 
he  asked  discontentedly. 

Miss  Maggie  had  left  the  sofa,  and  was  standing,  as 
if  half-poised  for  flight,  midway  to  the  door. 

289 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"I  think — yes,  I  will  tell  you,"  she  nodded,  her 
cheeks  very  pink;  "but  I  wanted  to  be —  over  here, 
to  tell  it." 

"'Way  over  there?" 

"Yes,  'way  over  here.  Do  you  remember  those  let 
ters  I  got  awhile  ago,  and  the  call  from  the  Boston 
lawyer,  that  I —  I  would  n't  tell  you  about?" 

"I  should  say  I  did!" 

"Well;  you  know  you —  you  thought  they —  they 
had  something  to  do  with  —  my  money;  that  I —  I'd 
lost  some." 

"I  did,  dear." 

"Well,  they — they  did  have  something  to  do  — 
with  money." 

"I  knew  they  did!"  triumphed  the  man.  "Oh,  why 
would  n't  you  tell  me  then  —  and  let  me  help  you 
some  way?" 

She  shook  her  head  nervously  and  backed  nearer  the 
door.  He  had  half  started  from  his  seat. 

"No,  stay  there.   If  you  don't —  I  won't  tell  you." 

He  fell  back,  but  with  obvious  reluctance. 

"Well,  as  I  said,  it  did  have  something  to  do  —  with 
my  money;  but  just  now,  when  you  asked  me  if  I —  I 
was  marrying  you  or  your  money  —  " 

"But  I  was  in  fun —  you  know  I  was  in  fun!"  de 
fended  the  man  hotly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  knew  that,"  nodded  Miss  Maggie.  "But 
it  —  it  made  me  laugh  and  remember  —  the  letters. 
You  see,  they  were  n't  as  you  thought.  They  did  n't 
tell  me  of  —  of  money  lost.  They  told  me  of  money  — 
gained." 

"Gained?" 

290 


REFLECTIONS  — MIRRORED  AND  OTHERWISE 

"Yes.  That  father's  Cousin  George  in  Alaska  had 
died  and  left  me  —  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"But,  my  dear  woman,  why  in  Heaven's  name 
would  n't  you  tell  me  that?" 

"Because."  Miss  Maggie  took  a  step  nearer  the 
door.  "You  see,  I  thought  you  were  poor — very 
poor,  and  I —  I  would  n't  even  own  up  to  it  myself, 
but  I  knew,  in  my  heart,  that  I  was  afraid,  if  you 
heard  I  had  this  money,  you  would  n't —  you  would  n't 
—  ask  me  to  —  to  —  " 

She  was  blushing  so  adorably  now  that  the  man 
understood  and  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Maggie,  you —  darling!" 

But  the  door  had  shut  —   Miss  Maggie  had  fled. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THAT   MISERABLE   MONEY 

IN  the  evening,  after  the  Martin  girls  had  gone  to 
their  rooms,  Miss  Maggie  and  Mr.  Smith  faced  the 
thing  squarely. 

"Of  course,"  he  began  with  a  sigh,  "I'm  really  not 
out  of  the  woods  at  all.  Blissfully  happy  as  I  am,  I  'm 
really  deeper  in  the  woods  than  ever,  for  now  I've 
got  you  there  with  me,  to  look  out  for.  However 
successfully  John  Smith  might  dematerialize  into 
nothingness  —  Maggie  Duff  can't." 

"No,  I  know  she  can't,"  admitted  Miss  Maggie 
soberly. 

"Yet  if  she  marries  John  Smith  she'll  have  to  — 
and  if  she  does  n't  marry  him,  how's  Stanley  G.  Fulton 
going  to  do  his  courting?  He  can't  come  here." 

"But  he  must!"  Miss  Maggie  looked  up  with 
startled  eyes.  "Why,  Mr.  Smith,  you'll  have  to  tell 
them  —  who  you  are.  You  '11  have  to  tell  them  right 
away." 

The  man  made  a  playfully  wry  face. 

"I  shall  be  glad,"  he  observed,  "when  I  shan't  have 
to  be  held  off  at  the  end  of  a  'Mr.'!  However,  we'll 
let  that  pass  —  until  we  settle  the  other  matter.  Have 
you  given  any  thought  as  to  how  I  'm  going  to  tell 
Cousin  Frank  and  Cousin  James  and  Cousin  Flora 
that  I  am  Stanley  G.  Fulton?" 

"No — except  that  you  must  do  it,"  she  answered 
292 


THAT  MISERABLE  MONEY 

decidedly.  "I  don't  think  you  ought  to  deceive  them 
another  minute  —  not  another  minute." 

"Hm-m,"  Mr.  Smith's  eyes  grew  reflective.  "And 
had  you  thought  —  as  to  what  would  happen  when  I 
did  tell  them?" 

"Why,  n-no,  not  particularly,  except  that  —  that 
they  naturally  would  n't  like  it,  at  first,  and  that  you  'd 
have  to  explain  —  just  as  you  did  to  me  —  why  you 
did  it." 

"  And  do  you  think  they  '11  like  it  any  better  —  when 
I  do  explain?  Think!" 

Miss  Maggie  meditated;  then,  a  little  tremulously 
she  drew  in  her  breath.  She  lifted  startled  eyes  to  his 
face. 

"Why,  you'd  have  to  tell  them  that  —  that  you  did 
it  for  a  test,  would  n't  you?" 

"If  I  told  the  truth  —  yes." 

"And  they'd  know  —  they  could  n't  help  knowing 
—  that  they  had  failed  to  meet  it  adequately." 

"Yes.  And  would  that  help  matters  any  —  make 
things  any  happier,  all  around?" 

"No  —  oh,  no,"  she  frowned  despairingly. 

"Would  it  do  anybody  any  real  good,  now?  Think 
of  that." 

"N-no,"  she  admitted  reluctantly,  "except  that  — 
that  you'd  be  doing  right." 

"But  would  I  be  doing  right?  And  another  thing  —  • 
aside  from  the  mortification,  dismay,  and  anger  of  my 
good  cousins,  have  you  thought  what  I'd  be  bringing 
on  you?" 


Yes.     In  less  than  half  a  dozen  hours  after  the 
293 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Blaisdclls  knew  that  Mr.  John  Smith  was  Stanley  G. 
Fulton,  Hillerton  would  know  it.  And  in  less  than 
half  a  dozen  more  hours,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago, 
-  to  say  nothing  of  a  dozen  lesser  cities,  —  would 
know  it —  if  there  did  n't  happen  to  be  anything  bigger 
on  foot.  Headlines  an  inch  high  would  proclaim  the 
discovery  of  the  missing  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  and  the 
fine  print  below  would  tell  everything  that  happened, 
and  a  great  deal  that  did  n't  happen,  in  the  carrying- 
out  of  the  eccentric  multi-millionaire's  extraordinary 
scheme  of  testing  his  relatives  with  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  apiece  to  find  a  suitable  heir.  Your  pic 
ture  would  adorn  the  front  page  of  the  yellowest  of 
yellow  journals,  and  - 

"My  picture!  Oh,  no,  no!"  gasped  Miss  Maggie. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,"  smiled  the  man  imperturbably. 
"You'll  be  in  it,  too.  Are  n't  you  the  affianced  bride 
of  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton?  I  can  see  them  now:  'In 
Search  of  an  Heir  and  Finds  a  Wife.'  —  *  Charming  Miss 
Maggie  Duff  Falls  in  Love  with  Plain  John  Smith/ 
and—" 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  moaned  Miss  Maggie,  shrinking  back 
as  if  already  the  lurid  headlines  were  staring  her  in  the 
face. 

Mr.  Smith  laughed. 

"Oh,  well,  it  might  not  be  so  bad  as  that,  of  course. 
But  you  never  can  tell.  Undoubtedly  there  are  ele 
ments  for  a  pretty  good  story  in  the  case,  and  some 
man,  with  nothing  more  important  to  write  up,  is 
bound  to  make  the  most  of  it  somewhere.  Then  other 
papers  will  copy.  There's  sure  to  be  unpleasant 
publicity,  my  dear,  if  the  truth  once  leaks  out." 

294 


THAT  MISERABLE  MONEY 

"But  what —  what  had  you  planned  to  do?"  she 
faltered,  shuddering  again. 

"Well,  I  had  planned  something  like  this:  pretty 
quick,  now,  Mr.  Smith  was  to  announce  the  completion 
of  his  Blaisdell  data,  and,  with  properly  grateful  fare 
wells,  take  his  departure  from  Hillerton.  He  would 
go  to  South  America.  There  he  would  go  inland  on 
some  eort  of  a  simple  expedition  with  a  few  native 
guides  and  carriers,  but  no  other  companion.  Some 
where  in  the  wilderness  he  would  shed  his  beard  and 
his  name,  and  would  emerge  in  his  proper  person  of 
Stanley  G.  Fulton  and  promptly  take  passage  for  the 
States.  Of  course,  upon  the  arrival  in  Chicago  of 
Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  there  would  be  a  slight  flurry  at 
his  appearance,  and  a  few  references  to  the  hundred- 
thousand-dollar  gifts  to  the  Eastern  relatives,  and 
sundry  speculations  as  to  the  why  and  how  of  the 
exploring  trip.  There  would  be  various  rumors  and 
alleged  interviews;  but  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  never 
was  noted  for  his  communicativeness,  and,  after  a  very 
short  time,  the  whole  thing  would  be  dismissed  as 
probably  another  of  the  gentleman's  well-known 
eccentricities.  And  there  it  would  end." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  murmured  Miss  Maggie,  in  very  evi 
dent  relief.  "That  would  be  better —  in  some  ways; 
only  it  does  seem  terrible  not  to —  to  tell  them  who 
you  are." 

"But  we  have  just  proved  that  to  do  that  would  n't 
bring  happiness  anywhere,  and  would  bring  misery 
everywhere,  have  n't  we?  " 

'Y-yes." 

"Then  why  do  it? — particularly  as  by  not  doing 

295 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

it  I  am  not  defrauding  anybody  in  the  least.  No;  that 
part  is  n't  worrying  me  a  bit  now —  but  there  is  one 
point  that  does  worry  me  very  much." 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  is  it?" 

"Yourself.  My  scheme  gets  Stanley  G.  Fulton  back 
to  life  and  Chicago  very  nicely;  but  it  does  n't  get 
Maggie  Duff  there  worth  a  cent!  Maggie  Duff  can't 
marry  Mr.  John  Smith  in  Hillerton  and  arrive  in 
Chicago  as  the  wife  of  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  can  she?" 

"N-no,  but  he —  he  can  come  back  and  get  her — 
if  he  wants  her."  Miss  Maggie  blushed. 

"If  he  wants  her,  indeed!"  (Miss  Maggie  blushed 
all  the  more  at  the  method  and  the  fervor  of  Mr. 
Smith's  answer  to  this.)  "Come  back  as  Mr.  Stanley 
G.  Fulton,  you  mean?"  went  on  Mr.  Smith,  smiling 
at  Miss  Maggie's  hurried  efforts  to  smooth  her  ruffled 
hair.  "Too  risky,  my  dear!  He 'd  look  altogether  too 
much  like —  like  Mr.  John  Smith." 

"But  your  beard  will  be  gone — I  wonder  how  I 
shall  like  you  without  a  beard."  She  eyed  him  crit 
ically. 

Mr.  Smith  laughed  and  threw  up  his  hands  with  a 
doleful  shrug. 

"That's  what  comes  of  courting  as  one  man  and 
marrying  ac  another,"  he  groaned.  Then,  sternly: 
"I'll  warn  you  right  now,  Maggie  Duff,  that  Stanley 
G.  Fulton  is  going  to  be  awfully  jealous  of  John  Smith 
if  you  don't  look  out." 

"He  should  have  thought  of  that  before,"  retorted 
Miss  Maggie,  her  eyes  mischievous.  "But,  tell  me, 
wouldn't  you  ever  dare  to  come — in  your  proper 
person?" 

29G 


THAT  MISERABLE  MONEY 

" Never! —  or,  at  least,  not  for  some  time.  The 
beard  would  be  gone,  to  be  sure;  but  there 'd  be  all 
the  rest  to  tattle —  eyes,  voice,  size,  manner,  walk  — 
everything;  and  smoked  glasses  could  n't  cover  all 
that,  you  know.  Besides,  glasses  would  be  taboo,  any 
way.  They  'd  only  result  in  making  me  look  more  like 
John  Smith  than  ever.  John  Smith,  you  remember, 
wore  smoked  glasses  for  some  time  to  hide  Mr.  Stan 
ley  G.  Fulton  from  the  ubiquitous  reporter.  No,  Mr. 
Stanley  G.  Fulton  can't  come  to  Hillerton.  So,  as 
Mahomet  can't  go  to  the  mountain,  the  mountain 
must  come  to  Mahomet." 

"Meaning — ?"  Miss  Maggie's  eyes  were  growing 
dangerously  mutinous. 

"That  you  will  have  to  come  to  Chicago  —  yes." 

"And  court  you?  No,  sir —  thank  you!" 

Mr.  Smith  chuckled  softly. 

"  I  love  you  with  your  head  tilted  that  way."  (Miss 
Maggie  promptly  tilted  it  the  other.)  "Or  that,  either, 
for  that  matter,"  continued  Mr.  Smith  genially. 
"However,  speaking  of  courting —  Mr.  Fulton  will  do 
that,  all  right,  and  endeavor  to  leave  nothing  lacking, 
either  as  to  quantity  or  quality.  Think,  now.  Don't 
you  know  any  one  in  Chicago?  Have  n't  you  got  some 
friend  that  you  can  visit?" 

"No!"  Miss  Maggie's  answer  was  prompt  and  em 
phatic —  too  prompt  and  too  emphatic  for  unques 
tioning  acceptance. 

:  "Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  asserted  the  man  cheerfully. 
"I  don't  know  her  name — but  she's  there.  She's 
waving  a  red  flag  from  your  face  this  minute!  Now, 
listen.  Well,  turn  your  head  away,  if  you  like  —  if  you 

297 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

can  listen  better  that  way,"  he  went  on  tranquilly, 
paying  no  attention  to  her  little  gasp.  "Well,  all  you 
have  to  do  is  to  write  the  lady  you  're  coming,  and  go. 
Never  mind  who  she  is  —  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  will 
find  a  way  to  meet  her.  Trust  him  for  that!  Then 
he  '11  call  and  meet  you  —  and  be  so  pleased  to  see 
you!  The  rest  will  be  easy.  There'll  be  a  regular 
whirlwind  courtship  then  —  calls,  dinners,  theaters, 
candy,  books,  flowers!  Then  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton 
will  propose  marriage.  You'll  be  immensely  sur 
prised,  of  course,  but  you'll  accept.  Then  we'll  get 
married,"  he  finished  with  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfac 
tion. 

"Mr.  Smith!"  ejaculated  Miss  Maggie  faintly. 

"Say,  can't  you  call  me  anything—  '  he  began 
wrathfully,  but  interrupted  himself.  "However,  it's 
better  that  you  don't,  after  all.  Because  I've  got  to 
be  'Mr.  Smith'  as  long  as  I  stay  here.  But  you  wait 
till  you  meet  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  in  Chicago! 
Now,  what's  her  name,  and  where  does  she  live?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  in  spite  of  herself,  as  she  said 
severely:  "Her  name,  indeed!  I'm  afraid  Mr.  Stanley 
G.  Fulton  is  so  in  the  habit  of  having  his  own  way  that 
he  forgets  he  is  still  Mr.  John  Smith.  However,  there 
in  an  old  schoolmate,"  she  acknowledged  demurely. 

"Of  course  there  is!  Now,  write  her  at  once,  and  tell 
her  you*re  coming." 

"But  she —  she  may  not  be  there." 

"Then  get  her  there.  She's  got  to  be  there.  And, 
listen.  I  think  you'd  better  plan  to  go  pretty  soon 
after  I  go  to  South  America.  Then  you  can  be  there 
when  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  arrives  in  Chicago  and 

298 


THAT  MISERABLE  MONEY 

can  write  the  news  back  here  to  Hillerton.  Oh,  they'll 
get  it  in  the  papers,  in  time,  of  course;  but  I  think  it 
had  better  come  from  you  first.  You  see  —  the  reap 
pearance  on  this  earth  of  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  is 
going  to  be  of  —  of  some  moment  to  them,  you  know. 
There  is  Mrs.  Hattie,  for  instance,  who  is  counting  on 
the  rest  of  the  money  next  November." 

"Yes,  I  know,  it  will  mean  a  good  deal  to  them,  of 
course.  Still,  I  don't  believe  Hattie  is  really  expecting 
the  money.  At  any  rate,  she  has  n't  said  anything 
about  it  very  lately  —  perhaps  because  she 's  been  too 
busy  bemoaning  the  pass  the  present  money  has 
brought  them  to." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  frowned  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  gloomy 
sigh.  "That  miserable  money ! " 

"No,  no —  I  did  n't  mean  to  bring  that  up,"  apolo 
gized  Miss  Maggie  quickly,  with  an  apprehensive 
glance  into  his  face.  "And  it  was  n't  miserable  money 
a  bit!  Besides,  Hattie  has —  has  learned  her  lesson, 
I'm  sure,  and  she'll  do  altogether  differently  in  the 
new  home.  But,  Mr.  Smith,  am  I  never  to  —  to  come 
back  here?  Can't  we  come  back —  ever?" 

"Indeed  we  can —  some  time,  by  and  by,  when  all 
this  has  blown  over,  and  they've  forgotten  how  Mr. 
Smith  looks.  We  can  come  back  then.  Meanwhile,  you 
can  come  alone —  a  very  little.  I  shan't  let  you  leave 
me  very  much.  But  I  understand;  you'll  have  to  come 
to  see  your  friends.  Besides,  there  are  all  those  play 
grounds  for  the  babies  and  cleaner  milk  for  the  streets, 
and  —  " 

"Cleaner  milk  for  the  streets,  indeed!" 

"Eh?  What?  Oh,  yes,  it  was  the  milk  for  the  babies, 
299 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

was  n't  it?"  he  teased.  "Well,  however  that  may  be, 
you'll  have  to  come  back  to  superintend  all  those 
things  you've  been  wanting  to  do  so  long.  But" 
his  face  grew  a  little  wistful-  "you  don't  want  to 
spend  too  much  time  here.  You  know  —  Chicago  has 
a  few  babies  that  need  cleaner  milk." 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know!"  Her  face  grew  softly  lumi 
nous  as  it  had  grown  earlier  in  the  afternoon. 

"So  you  can  bestow  some  of  your  charity  there; 
and  —  " 

"It  isn't  charity,"  she  interrupted  with  suddenly 
flashing  eyes.  "Oh,  how  I  hate  that  word —  the  way 
it's  used,  I  mean.  Of  course,  the  real  charity  means 
love.  Love,  indeed!  I  suppose  it  was  love  that  made 
John  Daly  give  one  hundred  dollars  to  the  Pension 
Fund  Fair  —  after  he  'd  jewed  it  out  of  those  poor  girls 
behind  his  counters!  And  Mrs.  Morse  went  around 
everywhere  telling  how  kind  dear  Mr.  Daly  was  to 
give  so  much  to  charity!  Charity!  Nobody  wants 
charity  —  except  a  few  lazy  rascals  like  those  beggars 
of  Flora's!  But  we  all  want  our  rights.  And  if  half  the 
world  gave  the  other  half  its  rights  there  would  n't 
le  any  charity,  I  believe." 

"Dear,  dear!  What  have  we  here?  A  rabid  little 
Socialist?"  Mr.  Smith  held  up  both  hands  in  mock 
terror.  "I  shall  be  petitioning  her  for  my  bread  and 
butter,  yet!" 

"Nonsense!  But,  honestly,  Mr.  Smith,  when  I 
think  of  all  that  money"  -  her  eyes  began  to  shine 
again-  "and  of  what  we  can  do  with  it,  I —  I  just 
can't  believe  it's  so!" 

"But  you  aren't  expecting  that  twenty  millions  are 
300 


THAT  MISERABLE  MONEY 

going  to  right  all  the  wrongs  in  the  world,  are  you?" 
Mr.  Smith's  eyes  were  quizzical. 

"No,  oh,  no;  but  we  can  help  some  that  we  know 
about.  But  it  is  n't  that  I  just  want  to  give,  you 
know.  We  must  get  behind  things  —  to  the  causes. 
We  must  —  " 

"We  must  make  the  Mr.  Dalys  pay  more  to  their 
girls  before  they  pay  anything  to  pension  funds,  eh?" 
laughed  Mr.  Smith,  as  Miss  Maggie  came  to  a  breath 
less  pause. 

"Exactly!"  nodded  Miss  Maggie  earnestly.  "Oh, 
can't  you  see  what  we  can  do  —  with  that  twenty  mil 
lion  dollars?" 

Mr.  Smith,  his  gaze  on  Miss  Maggie's  flushed  cheeks 
and  shining  eyes,  smiled  tenderly.  Then  with  mock 
severity  he  frowned. 

"I  see —  that  I'm  being  married  for  my  money  — 
after  all!"  he  scolded. 

"Pooh!"  sniffed  Miss  Maggie,  so  altogether  be- 
witchingly  that  Mr.  Smith  gave  her  a  rapturous  kiss. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

EXIT    MR.    JOHN    SMITH 

EARLY  in  July  Mr.  Smith  took  his  departure  from 
Hillerton.  He  made  a  farewell  call  upon  each  of  the 
Blaisdell  families,  and  thanked  them  heartily  for  all 
their  kindness  in  assisting  him  with  his  Blaisdell 
book. 

The  Blaisdells,  one  and  all,  said  they  were  very 
sorry  to  have  him  go.  Miss  Flora  frankly  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  told  Mr.  Smith  she  could  never,  never  thank 
him  enough  for  what  he  had  done  for  her.  Mellicent, 
too,  with  shy  eyes  averted,  told  him  she  should  never 
forget  what  he  had  done  for  her  —  and  for  Donald. 

James  and  Flora  and  Frank  —  and  even  Jane !  — 
said  that  they  would  like  to  have  one  of  the  Blaisdell 
books,  when  they  were  published,  to  hand  down  in  the 
family.  Flora  took  out  her  purse  and  said  that  she 
would  pay  for  hers  now;  but  Mr.  Smith  hastily,  and 
with  some  evident  embarrassment,  refused  the  money, 
saying  that  he  could  not  tell  yet  what  the  price  of  the 
book  would  be. 

All  the  Blaisdells,  except  Frank,  Fred,  and  Bessie, 
went  to  the  station  to  see  Mr.  Smith  off.  They  said 
they  wanted  to.  They  told  him  he  was  just  like  one 
of  the  family,  anyway,  and  they  declared  they  hoped 
he  would  come  back  soon.  Frank  telephoned  him  that 
he  would  have  gone,  too,  if  he  had  not  had  so  much 
to  do  at  the  store. 

302 


EXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

Mr.  Smith  seemed  pleased  at  all  this  attention  — 
he  seemed,  indeed,  quite  touched;  but  he  seemed  also 
embarrassed —  in  fact,  he  seemed  often  embarrassed 
during  those  last  few  days  at  Hillerton. 

Miss  Maggie  Duff  did  not  go  to  the  station  to  see 
Mr.  Smith  off.  Miss  Flora,  on  her  way  home,  stopped 
at  the  Duff  cottage  and  reproached  Miss  Maggie  for 
the  delinquency. 

"Nonsense!  Why  should  I  go?"  laughed  Miss 
Maggie. 

"Why  shouldn't  you?"  retorted  Miss  Flora.  "All 
the  rest  of  us  did,  'most." 

"Well,  that's  all  right.  You're  Blaisdells  —  but 
I'm  not,  you  know." 

"You're  just  as  good  as  one,  Maggie  Duff!  Be 
sides,  has  n't  that  man  boarded  here  for  over  a  year, 
and  paid  you  good  money,  too?" 

"WThy,  y-yes,  of  course." 

"Well,  then,  I  don't  think  it  would  have  hurt  you 
any  to  show  him  this  last  little  attention.  He'll  think 
you  don't  like  him,  or  —  or  are  mad  about  some 
thing,  when  all  the  rest  of  us  went." 

"Nonsense,  Flora!" 

"Well,  then,  if  -  -  Why,  Maggie  Duff,  you're  blush 
ing  ! "  she  broke  off,  peering  into  Miss  Maggie's  face 
in  a  way  that  did  not  tend  to  lessen  the  unmistakable 
color  that  was  creeping  to  her  forehead.  "You  are 
blushing!  I  declare,  if  you  were  twenty  years  younger, 
and  I  did  n't  know  better,  I  should  say  that  —  '  She 
stopped  abruptly,  then  plunged  on,  her  countenance 
suddenly  alight  with  a  new  idea.  "Now  I  know  why 
you  did  n't  go  to  the  station,  Maggie  Duff!  That 

303 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

man  proposed  to  you,  and  you  refused  him!"  she  tri 
umphed. 

"Flora!"  gasped  Miss  Maggie,  her  face  scarlet. 

"He  did,  I  know  he  did!  Hattie  always  said  it 
would  be  a  match —  from  the  very  first,  when  he  came 
here  to  your  house." 

"Flora!"  gasped  Miss  Maggie  again,  looking  about 
her  very  much  as  if  she  were  meditating  flight. 

"Well,  she  did— but  I  didn't  believe  it.  Now  I 
know.  You  refused  him —  now,  did  n't  you?" 

"Certainly  not!"  Miss  Maggie  caught  her  breath 
a  little  convulsively. 

"Honest?" 

"Flora!  Stop  this  silly  talk  right  now.  I  have  an 
swered  you  once.  I  shan't  again." 

"Hm-m."  Miss  Flora  fell  back  in  her  chair.  "Well, 
I  suppose  you  did  n't,  then,  if  you  say  so.  And  I  don't 
need  to  ask  if  you  accepted  him.  You  did  n't,  of  course, 
or  you  'd  have  been  there  to  see  him  off.  And  he 
would  n't  have  gone  then,  anyway,  probably.  So  he 
did  n't  ask  you,  I  suppose.  Well,  I  never  did  believe, 
like  Hattie  did,  that—" 

"Flora,"  interrupted  Miss  Maggie  desperately,  "will 
you  stop  talking  in  that  absurd  way?  Listen,  I  did 
not  care  to  go  to  the  station  to-day.  I  am  very 
busy.  I  am  going  away  next  week.  I  am  going  —  to 
Chicago." 

"To  Chicago  —  you!"  Miss  Flora  came  erect  in  her 
chair. 

"Yes,  for  a  visit.  I'm  going  to  see  my  old  class 
mate,  Nellie  Maynard— Mrs.  Tyndall." 

"Maggie!" 

304 


EXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Why,  n-nothing.  It's  lovely,  of  course,  only  — 
only  I  —  I'm  so  surprised!  You  never  go  any 
where." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  I  should,  then.  It's  time 
I  did,"  smiled  Miss  Maggie.  Miss  Maggie  was  look 
ing  more  at  ease  now. 

"When  are  you  going?" 

"Next  Wednesday.  I  heard  from  Nellie  last  night. 
She  is  expecting  me  then." 

"How  perfectly  splendid!  I'm  so  glad!  And  I  do 
hope  you  can  do  it,  and  that  it  won't  peter  out  at  the 
last  minute,  same's  most  of  your  good  times  do.  Poor 
Maggie!  And  you've  had  such  a  hard  life —  and  your 
boarder  leaving,  too!  That'll  make  a  lot  of  difference 
in  your  pocketbook,  won't  it?  But,  Maggie,  you'll 
have  to  have  some  new  clothes." 

"Of  course.  I've  been  shopping  this  afternoon. 
I've  got  to  have  —  oh,  lots  of  things." 

"Of  course  you  have.  And,  Maggie,"  — Miss 
Flora's  face  grew  eager, —  "please,  please,  won't  you 
let  me  help  you  a  little  —  about  those  clothes?  And 
get  some  nice  ones  —  some  real  nice  ones,  for  once. 
You  know  how  I'd  love  to!  Please,  Maggie,  there's  a 
good  girl!" 

"Thank  you,  no,  dear,"  refused  Miss  Maggie,  shak 
ing  her  head  with  a  smile.  "But  I  appreciate  your 
kindness  just  the  same  —  indeed,  I  do!" 

"If  you  would  n't  be  so  horrid  proud,"  pouted  Miss 
Flora. 

But  Miss  Maggie  stopped  her  with  a  gesture. 

"No,  no,  —  listen!  I  —  I  have  something  to  tell 

205 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

you.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  soon,  anyway,  and  I'll 
tell  it  now.  I  have  money,  dear, —  lots  of  it  now." 

"You  have  money!" 

"  Yes.  Father's  Cousin  George  died  two  months  ago." 

"The  rich  one,  in  Alaska?" 

"Yes;  and  to  father's  daughter  he  left  —  fifty 
thousand  dollars." 

"Maggie!" 

"And  I  never  even  saw  him!  But  he  loved  father, 
you  know,  years  ago,  and  father  loved  him." 

"But  had  you  ever  heard  from  him —  late  years?" 

"Not  much.  Father  was  very  angry  because  he 
went  to  Alaska  in  the  first  place,  you  know,  and  they 
have  n't  ever  written  very  often." 

"Fifty  thousand!  And  you've  got  it  now?" 

"Not  yet  —  all  of  it.  They  sent  me  a  thousand — 
just  for  pin  money,  they  said.  The  lawyer's  written 
several  times,  and  he's  been  here  once.  I  believe  it's 
all  to  come  next  month." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  Maggie,"  breathed  Flora.  "I'm 
so  glad !  I  don't  know  of  anybody  I  'd  rather  see  take 
a  little  comfort  in  life  than  you!" 

At  the  door,  fifteen  minutes  later,  Miss  Flora  said 
again  how  glad  she  was;  but  she  added  wistfully:  — 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  though,  what  I'm  going 
to  do  all  summer  without  you.  Just  think  how  lone 
some  we'll  be  —  you  gone  to  Chicago,  Hattie  and 
Jim  and  all  their  family  moved  to  Plainville,  and  even 
Mr.  Smith  gone,  too !  And  I  think  we  're  going  to  miss 
Mr.  Smith  a  whole  lot,  too.  He  was  a  real  nice  man. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Maggie?" 

"Indeed,  I  do  think  he  was  a  very  nice  man!"  der 

306 


EXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

clared  Miss  Maggie.  "Now,  Flora,  I  shall  want  you 
to  go  shopping  with  me  lots.  Can  you?" 

And  Miss  Flora,  eagerly  entering  into  Miss  Maggie's 
discussion  of  frills  and  flounces,  failed  to  notice  that 
Miss  Maggie  had  dropped  the  subject  of  Mr.  Smith 
somewhat  hastily. 

Hillerton  had  much  to  talk  about  during  those  sum 
mer  days.  Mr.  Smith's  going  had  created  a  mild  dis 
cussion —  the  "ancestor  feller"  was  well  known  and 
well  liked  in  the  town.  But  even  his  departure  did  not 
arouse  the  interest  that  was  bestowed  upon  the  re 
moval  of  the  James  Blaisdells  to  Plain ville;  and  this, 
in  turn,  did  not  cause  so  great  an  excitement  as  did 
the  news  that  Miss  Maggie  Duff  had  inherited  fifty 
thousand  dollars  and  had  gone  to  Chicago  to  spend  it. 
And  the  fact  that  nearly  all  who  heard  this  promptly 
declared  that  they  hoped  she  would  spend  a  good 
share  of  it  —  in  Chicago,  or  elsewhere  —  on  herself, 
showed  pretty  well  just  where  Miss  Maggie  Duff 
stood  in  the  hearts  of  Hillerton. 


It  was  early  in  September  that  Miss  Flora  had  the 
letter  from  Miss  Maggie.  Not  but  that  she  had  re 
ceived  letters  from  Miss  Maggie  before,  but  that  the 
contents  of  this  one  made  it  at  once,  to  all  the  Blais 
dells,  "the  letter." 

Miss  Flora  began  to  read  it,  gave  a  little  cry,  and 
sprang  to  her  feet.  Standing,  her  breath  suspended, 
she  finished  it.  Five  minutes  later,  gloves  half  on  and 
hat  askew,  she  was  hurrying  across  the  common  to 
her  brother  Frank's  home. 

307 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Jane,  Jane,"  she  panted,  as  soon  as  she  found  her 
sister-in-law.  "I've  had  a  letter  from  Maggie.  Mr. 
Stanley  G.  Fulton  has  come  back.  He's  come  back!" 

"Come  back!  Alive,  you  mean?  Oh,  my  goodness 
gracious!  What '11  Hattie  do?  She's  just  been  living 
on  having  that  money.  And  us,  with  all  we've  lost, 
too!  But,  then,  maybe  we  would  n't  have  got  it,  any 
way.  My  stars!  And  Maggie  wrote  you?  Where's 
the  letter?" 

"There!  And  I  never  thought  to  bring  it,"  ejacu 
lated  Miss  Flora  vexedly.  "But,  never  mind!  I  can 
tell  you  all  she  said.  She  did  n't  write  much.  She  said 
it  would  be  in  all  the  Eastern  papers  right  away,  of 
course,  but  she  wanted  to  tell  us  first,  so  we  would  n't 
be  so  surprised.  He's  just  come.  Walked  into  his 
lawyer's  office  without  a  telegram,  or  anything.  Said 
he  did  n't  want  any  fuss  made.  Mr.  Tyndall  brought 
home  the  news  that  night  in  an  'Extra';  but  that's 
all  it  told  —  just  that  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  the 
multi-millionaire  who  disappeared  nearly  two  years 
ago  on  an  exploring  trip  to  South  America,  had  come 
back  alive  and  well.  Then  it  told  all  about  the  two 
letters  he  left,  and  the  money  he  left  to  us,  and  all 
that,  Maggie  said;  and  it  talked  a  lot  about  how  lucky 
it  was  that  he  got  back  just  in  time  before  the  other 
letter  had  to  be  opened  next  November.  But  it  did 
n't  say  any  more  about  his  trip,  or  anything.  The 
morning  papers  will  have  more,  Maggie  said,  prob 
ably." 

"Yes,  of  course,  of  course,"  nodded  Jane,  rolling 
the  corner  of  her  upper  apron  nervously.  (Since  the 
forty-thousand-dollar  loss  Jane  had  gone  back  to  her 

308 


EXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

old  habit  of  wearing  two  aprons.)  "Where  do  you 
suppose  he's  been  all  this  time?  Was  he  lost  or  just 
exploring?" 

"Maggie  said  it  was  n't  known —  that  the  paper 
did  n't  say.  It  was  an  'Extra'  anyway,  and  it  just  got 
in  the  bare  news  of  his  return.  But  we'll  know,  of 
course.  The  papers  here  will  tell  us.  Besides,  Maggie 
'11  write  again  about  it,  I'm  sure.  Poor  Maggie!  I'm 
so  glad  she's  having  such  a  good  time!" 

"Yes,  of  course,  of  course,"  nodded  Jane  again 
nervously.  "Say,  Flora,  I  wonder —  do  you  suppose 
we'll  ever  hear  from  him?  He  left  us  all  that  money 
• —  he  knows  that,  of  course.  He  can't  ask  for  it  back 
—  the  lawyer  said  he  couldn't  do  that!  Don't  you 
remember?  But,  I  wonder —  do  you  suppose  we 
ought  to  write  him  and —  and  thank  him?" 

"Oh,  mercy!"  exclaimed  Miss  Flora,  aghast. 
"Mercy  me,  Jane!  I'd  be  scared  to  death  to  do  such 
a  thing  as  that.  Oh,  you  don't  think  we've  got  to  do 
that  ?  "  Miss  Flora  had  grown  actually  pale. 

Jane  frowned. 

"I  don't  know.  We'd  want  to  do  what  was  right 
and  proper,  of  course.  But  I  don't  see —  "  She 
paused  helplessly. 

Miss  Flora  gave  a  sudden  hysterical  little  laugh. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  how  we're  going  to  find  out 
what's  proper,  in  this  case,"  she  giggled.  "We  can't 
write  to  a  magazine,  same  as  I  did  when  I  wanted  to 
know  how  to  answer  invitations  and  fix  my  knives 
and  forks  on  the  table.  WTe  cant  write  to  them,  'cause 
nothing  like  this  ever  happened  before,  and  they 
would  n't  know  what  to  say.  How  'd  we  look  writing, 

SOD 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

'Please,  dear  Editor,  when  a  man  wills  you  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  and  then  comes  to  life  again,  is  it 
proper  or  not  proper  to  write  and  thank  him? '  They  'd 
think  we  was  crazy,  and  they'd  have  reason  to!  For 
my  part,  I  — 

The  telephone  bell  rang  sharply,  and  Jane  rose  to 
answer  it.  She  was  gone  some  time.  When  she  came 
back  she  was  even  more  excited. 

"It  was  Frank.  He's  heard  it.  It  was  in  the  papers 
to-night." 

"Did  it  tell  anything  more?" 

"Not  much,  I  guess.  Still,  there  was  some.  He's 
going  to  bring  it  home.  It 's  'most  supper-time.  Why 
don't  you  wait?"  she  questioned,  as  Miss  Flora  got 
hastily  to  her  feet. 

Miss  Flora  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't.  I  left  everything  just  as  it  was  and  ran, 
when  I  got  the  letter.  I'll  get  a  paper  myself  on  the 
way  home.  I'm  going  to  call  up  Hattie,  too,  on  the 
long  distance.  My,  it's  'most  as  exciting  as  it  was 
when  it  first  came,  —  the  money,  I  mean,  —  is  n't 
it?"  panted  Miss  Flora  as  she  hurried  away. 

The  Blaisdells  bought  many  papers  during  the  next 
few  days.  But  even  by  the  time  that  the  Stanley  G. 
Fulton  sensation  had  dwindled  to  a  short  paragraph 
in  an  obscure  corner  of  a  middle  page,  they  (and  the 
public  in  general)  were  really  little  the  wiser,  except 
for  these  bare  facts :  — 

Stanley  G.  Fulton  had  arrived  at  a  South  American 
hotel,  from  the  interior,  had  registered  as  S.  Fulton, 
frankly  to  avoid  publicity,  and  had  taken  immediate 
passage  to  New  York.  Arriving  at  New  York,  still 

310 


VEXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

to  avoid  publicity,  he  had  not  telegraphed  his  attor 
neys,  but  had  taken  the  sleeper  for  Chicago,  and  had 
fortunately  not  met  any  one  who  recognized  him 
until  his  arrival  in  that  city.  He  had  brought  home 
several  fine  specimens  of  Incan  textiles  and  potteries: 
and  he  declared  that  he  had  had  a  very  enjoyable  and 
profitable  trip.  Beyond  that  he  would  say  nothing. 
He  did  not  care  to  talk  of  his  experiences,  he  said. 

For  a  time,  of  course,  his  return  was  made  much 
of.  Fake  interviews  and  rumors  of  threatened  death 
and  disaster  in  impenetrable  jungles  made  frequent 
appearance;  but  in  an  incredibly  short  time  the  flame 
of  interest  died  from  want  of  fuel  to  feed  upon;  and, 
as  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  himself  had  once  predicted, 
the  matter  was  soon  dismissed  as  merely  another  of 
the  multi-millionaire's  well-known  eccentricities. 

All  of  this  the  Blaisdells  heard  from  Miss  Maggie 
in  addition  to  seeing  it  in  the  newspapers.  But  very 
soon,  from  Miss  Maggie,  they  began  to  learn  more. 
Before  a  fortnight  had  passed,  Miss  Flora  received 
another  letter  from  Chicago  that  sent  her  flying  as 
before  to  her  sister-in-law. 

"Jane,  Jane,  Maggie's  met  him!"  she  cried,  breath 
lessly  bursting  into  the  kitchen  where  Jane  was  paring 
the  apples  that  she  would  not  trust  to  the  maid's  more 
wasteful  knife. 

"Met  him!  Met  who?" 

"Mr.  Fulton.  She's  talked  with  him!  She  wrote  me 
all  about  it." 

"Our  Mr.  Fulton?" 

"Yes." 

"Flora!"  With  a  hasty  twirl  of  a  now  reckless  knife, 

311 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Jane  finished  the  last  apple,  set  the  pan  on  the  table 
before  the  maid,  and  hurried  her  visitor  into  the  liv 
ing-room.  "Now,  tell  me  quick —  what  did  she  say? 
Is  he  nice?  Did  she  like  him?  Did  he  know  she  be 
longed  to  us?" 

"Yes — yes — everything,"  nodded  Miss  Flora, 
sinking  into  a  chair.  "  She  liked  him  real  well,  she  said, 
and  he  knows  all  about  that  she  belongs  to  us.  She 
said  he  was  real  interested  in  us.  Oh,  I  hope  she 
did  n't  tell  him  about—  Fred!" 

"And  that  awful  gold-mine  stock,"  moaned  Jane. 
"But  she  would  n't —  I  know  she  would  n't!" 

"Of  course  she  would  n't,"  cried  Miss  Flora.  "  'T  is 
n't  like  Maggie  one  bit!  She'd  only  tell  the  nice 
things,  I'm  sure.  And,  of  course,  she'd  tell  him  how 
pleased  we  were  with  the  money ! " 

"Yes,  of  course,  of  course.  And  to  think  she's  met 
him  —  really  met  him ! "  breathed  Jane.  "Mellicent! " 
She  turned  an  excited  face  to  her  daughter,  who  had 
just  entered  the  room.  "What  do  you  think?  Aunt 
Flora's  just  had  a  letter  from  Aunt  Maggie,  and 
she's  met  Mr.  Fulton —  actually  talked  with  him!" 

"Really?  Oh,  how  perfectly  splendid!  Is  he  nice? 
Did  she  like  him?" 

Miss  Flora  laughed. 

"That's  just  what  your  mother  asked.  Yes,  he's 
real  nice,  your  Aunt  Maggie  says,  and  she  likes  him 
very  much." 

"But  how'd  she  do  it?  How'd  she  happen  to  meet 
him?"  demanded  Jane. 

"Well,  it  seems  he  knew  Mr.  Tyndall,  and  Mr. 
Tyndall  brought  him  home  one  night  and  introduced 

312 


EXIT  MR.  JOHN  SMITH 

him  to  his  wife  and  Maggie;  and  since  then  he's  been 
very  nice  to  them.  He's  taken  them  out  in  his  auto 
mobile,  and  taken  them  to  the  theater  twice." 

"That's  because  she  belongs  to  us,  of  course," 
nodded  Jane  wisely. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Flora.  "And  I  think 
it's  very  kind  of  him." 

"Pooh!"  sniffed  Mellicent  airily.  "7  think  he  does 
it  because  he  wants  to.  You  never  did  appreciate 
Aunt  Maggie.  I'll  warrant  she's  nicer  and  sweeter 
and  —  and,  yes,  prettier  than  lots  of  those  old  Chicago 
women.  Aunt  Maggie  looked  positively  handsome 
that  day  she  left  here  last  July.  She  looked  so — so 
absolutely  happy!  Probably  he  likes  to  take  her  to 
places.  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  she's  having  one  good  time 
before  she  dies." 

"Yes,  so  am  I,  my  dear.  We  all  are,"  sighed  Miss 
Flora.  "Poor  Maggie!" 

"I  only  wish  he'd  marry  her  and —  and  give  her 
a  good  time  all  her  life,"  avowed  Mellicent,  lifting  her 
chin. 

"Marry  her!"  exclaimed  two  scornful  voices. 

"Well,  why  not?  She's  good  enough  for  him,"  bri 
dled  Mellicent.  "Aunt  Maggie's  good  enough  for 
anybody!" 

"Of  course  she  is,  child!"  laughed  Miss  Flora. 
"Maggie's  a  saint —  if  ever  there  was  one." 

"Yes,  but  I  should  n't  call  her  a  marrying  saint," 
smiled  Jane. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  frowned  Miss 
Flora  thoughtfully.  "Hattie  always  declared  there 'd 
be  a  match  between  her  and  Mr.  Smith,  you  know." 

313 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Yes.  But  there  was  n't  one,  was  there?"  twitted 
Jane.  "Well,  then,  I  shall  stick  to  my  original  state 
ment  that  Maggie  Duff  is  a  saint,  all  right,  but  not  a 
marrying  one  —  unless  some  one  marries  her  now  for 
her  money,  of  course." 

"As  if  Aunt  Maggie 'd  stand  for  that!"  scoffed  Mel- 
licent.  "Besides,  she  would  n't  have  to!  Aunt  Mag 
gie's  good  enough  to  be  married  for  herself." 

"There,  there,  child,  just  because  you  are  a  love 
sick  little  piece  of  romance  just  now,  you  need  n't 
think  everybody  else  is,"  her  mother  reproved  her  a 
little  sharply. 

But  Mellicent  only  laughed  merrily  as  she  dis 
appeared  into  her  own  room. 

"Speaking  of  Mr.  Smith,  I  wonder  where  he  is,  and 
if  he'll  ever  come  back  here,"  mused  Miss  Flora,  aloud. 
"I  wish  he  would.  He  was  a  very  nice  man,  and  I 
liked  him." 

"Goodness,  Flora,  you  aren't  getting  romantic, 
too,  are  you?"  teased  her  sister-in-law. 

"Nonsense,  Jane!"  ejaculated  Miss  Flora  sharply, 
buttoning  up  her  coat.  "I'm  no  more  romantic  than 
-  than  poor  Maggie  herself  is!" 

Two  weeks  later,  to  a  day,  came  Miss  Maggie's 
letter  announcing  her  engagement  to  Mr.  Stanley 
G.  Fulton,  and  saying  that  she  was  to  be  married  in 
Chicago  before  Christmas. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

REENTER   MR.    STANLEY   G.    FULTON 

IN  the  library  of  Mrs.  Thomas  TyndalPs  Chicago  home 
Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton  was  impatiently  awaiting  the 
appearance  of  Miss  Maggie  Duff.  In  a  minute  she 
came  in,  looking  charmingly  youthful  in  her  new, 
well-fitting  frock. 

The  man,  quickly  on  his  feet  at  her  entrance,  gave 
her  a  lover's  ardent  kiss;  but  almost  instantly  he  held 
her  off  at  arms'  length. 

"Why,  dearest,  what's  the  matter?"  he  demanded. 

"W-what  do  you  mean?" 

"  You  look  as  if  —  if  something  had  happened  — 
not  exactly  a  bad  something,  but —  What  is  it?" 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  softly. 

"That's  one  of  the  very  nicest  things  about  you, 
Mr.  Stanley-G.-Fulton-John-Smith,"  she  sighed,  nes 
tling  comfortably  into  the  curve  of  his  arm,  as  they 
sat  down  on  the  divan;  —  "that  you  notice  things  so. 
And  it  seems  so  good  to  me  to  have  somebody  — 
notice." 

"Poor  lonely  little  woman!  And  to  think  of  all 
these  years  I've  wasted!" 

"Oh,  but  I  shan't  be  lonely  any  more  now.  And, 
listen  —  I  '11  tell  you  what  made  me  look  so  funny. 
I  Ve  had  a  letter  from  Flora.  You  know  I  wrote  them 
1 —  about  my  coming  marriage." 

"Yes,  yes,"  eagerly.  "Well,  what  did  they  say?" 

315 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Miss  Maggie  laughed  again. 

"I  believe —  I'll  let  you  read  the  letter  for  your 
self,  Stanley.  It  tells  some  things,  toward  the  end, 
that  I  think  you'll  like  to  know,"  she  said,  a  little 
hesitatingly,  as  she  held  out  the  letter  she  had  brought 
into  the  room  with  her. 

"Good!  I'd  like  to  read  it,"  cried  Fulton,  whisk 
ing  the  closely  written  sheets  from  the  envelope. 

MY  DEAR  MAGGIE  (Flora  had  written) :  Well,  mercy  me, 
you  have  given  us  a  surprise  this  time,  and  no  mistake! 
Yet  we're  all  real  glad,  Maggie,  and  we  hope  you'll  be 
awfully  happy.  You  deserve  it,  all  right.  Poor  Maggie! 
You  've  had  such  an  awfully  hard  time  all  your  life ! 

Well,  when  your  letter  came,  we  were  just  going  out  to 
Jim's  for  an  old-fashioned  Thanksgiving  dinner,  so  I  took 
it  along  with  me  and  read  it  to  them  all.  I  kept  it  till  we 
were  all  together,  too,  though  I  most  bursted  with  the  news 
all  the  way  out. 

Well,  you  ought  to  have  heard  their  tongues  wag!  They 
were  all  struck  dumb  first,  for  a  minute,  all  except  Mellicent. 
She  spoke  up  the  very  first  thing,  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"There!  "she  cried.  "What  did  I  tell  you?  I  knew  Aunt 
Maggie  was  good  enough  for  anybody!" 

To  explain  that  I'll  have  to  go  back  a  little.  We  were 
talking  one  day  about  you  —  Jane  and  Mellicent  and  me  — 
and  we  said  you  were  a  saint,  only  not  a  marrying  saint. 
But  Mellicent  thought  you  were,  and  it  seems  she  was  right. 
Oh,  of  course,  we'd  all  thought  once  Mr.  Smith  might  take 
a  fancy  to  you,  but  we  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  as 
this  —  Mr.  Stanley  G.  Fulton !  Sakes  alive  —  I  can  hardly 
sense  it  yet! 

Jane,  for  a  minute,  forgot  how  rich  he  was,  and  spoke 
right  up  real  quick—  "It's  for  her  money,  of  course.  I 
knew  some  one  would  marry  her  for  that  fifty  thousand 
dollars!"  But  she  laughed  then,  right  off,  with  the  rest  of 

316 


REENTER  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

us,  at  the  idea  of  a  man  worth  twenty  millions  marrying 
anybody  for  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

Benny  says  there  ain't  any  man  alive  good  enough  for 
his  Aunt  Maggie,  so  if  Mr.  Fulton  gets  to  being  too  high- 
headed  sometimes,  you  can  tell  him  what  Benny  says. 

But  we're  all  real  pleased,  honestly,  Maggie,  and  of 
course  we're  terribly  excited.  We're  so  sorry  you're  going 
to  be  married  out  there  in  Chicago.  Why  can't  you  make 
him  come  to  Hillerton?  Jane  says  she'd  be  glad  to  make 
a  real  nice  wedding  for  you  —  and  when  Jane  says  a  thing 
like  that,  you  can  know  how  much  she's  really  saying,  for 
Jane's  feeling  awfully  poor  these  days,  since  they  lost  all 
that  money,  you  know. 

And  we'd  all  like  to  see  Mr.  Fulton,  too  —  "Cousin 
Stanley,"  as  Hattie  always  calls  him.  Please  give  him  our 
congratulations  —  but  there,  that  sounds  funny,  does  n't  it? 
(But  the  etiquette  editors  in  the  magazines  say  we  must 
always  give  best  wishes  to  the  bride  and  congratulations 
to  the  groom.)  Only  it  seems  funny  here,  to  congratulate 
that  rich  Mr.  Fulton  on  marrying  you.  Oh,  dear!  I  did 
n't  mean  it  that  way,  Maggie.  I  declare,  if  that  sentence 
was  n't  'way  in  the  middle  of  this  third  page,  and  so  awfully 
hard  for  me  to  write,  anyway,  I'd  tear  up  this  sheet  and 
begin  another.  But,  after  all,  you'll  understand,  I'm  sure. 
You  know  we  all  think  the  world  of  you,  Maggie,  and  that 
I  did  n't  mean  anything  against  you.  It 's  just  that  —  that 
Mr.  Fulton  is  —  is  such  a  big  man,  and  all  —  But  you 
know  what  I  meant. 

Well,  anyway,  if  you  can't  come  here  to  be  married, 
we  hope  you  '11  bring  him  here  soon  so  we  can  see  him,  and 
see  you,  too.  We  miss  you  awfully,  Maggie,  —  truly  we  do, 
especially  since  Jim's  folks  went,  and  with  Mr.  Smith  gone, 
too,  Jane  and  I  are  real  lonesome. 

Jim  and  Hattie  like  real  well  where  they  are.  They've 
got  a  real  pretty  home,  and  they're  the  biggest  folks  in 
town,  so  Hattie  does  n't  have  to  worry  for  fear  she  won't 
live  quite  so  fine  as  her  neighbors  —  though  really  I  think 

317 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Battle's  got  over  that  now  a  good  deal.  That  awful  thing 
of  Fred's  sobered  her  a  lot,  and  taught  her  who  her  real 
friends  were,  and  that  money  ain't  everything. 

Fred  is  doing  splendidly  now,  just  as  steady  as  a  clock. 
It  does  my  soul  good  to  see  him  and  his  father  together. 
They  are  just  like  chums.  And  Bessie  —  she  is  n't  near 
so  disagreeable  and  airy  as  she  was.  Hattie  took  her  out 
of  that  school  and  put  her  into  another  where  she's  getting 
some  real  learning  and  less  society  and  frills  and  drncing. 
Jim  is  doing  well,  and  I  think  Hattie 's  real  happy.  Oh,  of 
course,  when  we  first  heard  that  Mr.  Fulton  had  got  back, 
I  think  she  was  kind  of  disappointed.  You  know  she  always 
did  insist  we  were  going  to  have  the  rest  of  that  money  if 
he  did  n't  show  up.  But  she  told  me  just  Thanksgiving  Day 
that  she  did  n't  know  but  't  was  just  as  well,  after  all,  that 
they  did  n't  have  the  money,  for  maybe  Fred  'd  go  wrong 
again,  or  it  would  strike  Benny  this  time.  Anyhow,  how 
ever  much  money  she  had,  she  said,  she'd  never  let  her 
children  spend  so  much  again,  and  she'd  found  out  money 
did  n't  bring  happiness,  always,  anyway. 

Mellicent  and  Donald  are  going  to  be  married  next  sum 
mer.  Donald  don't  get  a  very  big  salary  yet,  but  Melli 
cent  says  she  won't  mind  a  bit  going  back  to  economizing 
again,  now  that  for  once  she's  had  all  the  chocolates  and 
pink  dresses  she  wanted.  What  a  funny  girl  she  is  —  but 
she's  a  dear  girl,  just  the  same,  and  she's  settled  down  real 
sensible  now.  She  and  Donald  are  as  happy  as  can  be,  and 
even  Jane  likes  Donald  real  well  now. 

Jane's  gone  back  to  her  tidies  and  aprons  and  skimping 
on  everything.  She  says  she's  got  to,  to  make  up  that  forty 
thousand  dollars.  But  she  enjoys  it,  I  believe.  Honestly, 
she  acts  'most  as  happy  trying  to  save  five  cents  as  Frank 
does  earning  it  in  his  old  place  behind  the  counter.  And 
that's  saying  a  whole  lot,  as  you  know.  Jane  knows  very 
well  she  does  n't  have  to  pinch  that  way.  They've  got  lots 
of  the  money  left,  and  Frank's  business  is  better  than  ever. 
But  she  just  likes  to. 

318 


REfiNTER  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

You  complain  because  I  don't  tell  you  anything  about 
myself  in  my  letters,  but  there  is  n't  anything  to  tell.  I 
am  well  and  happy,  and  I've  just  thought  up  the  nicest 
thing  to  do.  Mary  Hicks  came  home  from  Boston  sick 
last  September,  and  she 's  been  here  at  my  house  ever  since. 
Her  own  home  ain't  no  place  for  a  sick  person,  you  know, 
with  all  those  children,  and  they're  awfully  poor,  too.  So 
I  took  her  here  with  me.  She 's  a  real  nice  girl.  She  works 
in  a  department  store  and  was  all  played  out,  but  she's 
picked  up  wonderfully  here  and  is  going  back  next  week. 

Well,  she  was  telling  me  about  a  girl  that  works  with  her 
at  the  same  counter,  and  saying  how  she  wished  she  had  a 
place  like  this  to  go  to  for  a  rest  and  change,  so  I  'm  going 
to  do  it  —  give  them  one,  I  mean,  she  and  the  other  girls. 
Mary  says  there  are  a  dozen  girls  that  she  knows  right  there 
that  are  half -sick,  but  would  get  well  in  a  minute  if  they 
only  had  a  few  weeks  of  rest  and  quiet  and  good  food.  So 
I'm  going  to  take  them,  two  at  a  time,  so  they'll  be  com 
pany  for  each  other.  Mary  is  going  to  fix  it  up  for  me  down 
there,  and  pick  out  the  girls,  and  she  says  she  knows  the 
man  who  owns  the  store  will  be  glad  to  let  them  off,  for  they 
are  all  good  help,  and  he 's  been  afraid  he  'd  lose  them.  He  'd 
offered  them  a  month  off,  besides  their  vacation,  but  they 
could  n't  take  it,  because  they  did  n't  have  any  place  to  go 
or  money  to  pay.  Of  course,  that  part  will  be  all  right  now. 
And  I  'm  so  glad  and  excited  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Oh,  I 
do  hope  you  '11  tell  Mr.  Fulton  some  time  how  happy  he 's  made 
me,  and  how  perfectly  splendid  that  money 's  been  for  me. 

Well,  Maggie,  this  is  a  long  letter,  and  I  must  close.  Tell 
me  all  about  the  new  clothes  you  are  getting,  and  I  hope 
you  will  get  a  lot.  Lovingly  yours, 

FLORA.- 

P.S.  Does  Mr.  Fulton  look  like  his  pictures?  You  know 
I've  got  one.  F. 

P.S.  again.  Maggie  Duff,  for  pity's  sake,  never,  never 
tell  that  man  that  I  ever  went  into  mourning  for  him  and 
put  flowers  before  his  picture.  I'd  be  mortified  to  death! 

319 


OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

"Bless  her  heart!"  With  a  smile  Mr.  Fulton  folded 
the  letter  and  handed  it  back  to  Miss  Maggie. 

"I  did  n't  feel  that  I  was  betraying  confidences  — 
under  the  circumstances,"  murmured  Miss  Maggie. 

"Hardly!" 

"And  there  was  a  good  deal  in  the  letter  that  I  did 
want  you  to  see,"  added  Miss  Maggie. 

"Hm-m;  the  congratulations,  for  one  thing,  of 
course,"  twinkled  the  man.  "Poor  Maggie!" 

"I  wanted  you  to  see  how  really,  in  the  end,  that 
money  was  not  doing  so  much  harm,  after  all,"  as 
serted  Miss  Maggie,  with  some  dignity,  shaking  her 
head  at  him  reprovingly.  "I  thought  you'd  be  glad, 
sir!" 

"I  am  glad.  I'm  so  glad  that,  when  I  come  to  make 
my  will  now,  I  should  n't  wonder  if  I  remembered 
them  all  again  —  a  little  —  that  is,  if  I  have  any 
thing  left  to  will,"  he  teased  shamelessly.  "Oh,  by 
the  way,  that  makes  me  think.  I've  just  been  put 
ting  up  a  monument  to  John  Smith." 

"Stanley!"  Miss  Maggie's  voice  carried  genuine 
shocked  distress. 

"But,  my  dear  Maggie,  something  was  due  the 
man,"  maintained  Fulton,  reaching  for  a  small  flat 
parcel  near  him  and  placing  it  in  Miss  Maggie's  hands. 

"But — oh,  Stanley,  how  could  you?"  she  shiv 
ered,  her  eyes  on  the  words  the  millionaire  had  pen 
ciled  on  the  brown  paper  covering  of  the  parcel. 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  John  Smith. 

"Open  it,"  directed  the  man. 

With  obvious  reluctance  Miss  Maggie  loosened  the 

320 


REENTER  MR.  STANLEY  G.  FULTON 

paper  covers  and  peered  within.    The  next  moment 
she  gave  a  glad  cry. 

In  her  hands  lay  a  handsome  brown  leather  volume 
with  gold  letters,  reading:  — 

The  Blaisdell  Family 

by 

John  Smith 

"And  you —  did  that?"  she  asked,  her  eyes  lumi 
nous. 

"Yes.  I  shall  send  a  copy  each  to  Frank  and  Jim 
and  Miss  Flora,  of  course.  That's  the  monument.  I 
thought  it  due  —  Mr.  John  Smith.  Poor  man,  it 's  the 
least  I  can  do  for  him  —  and  the  most  —  unless  —  " 
He  hesitated  with  an  unmistakable  look  of  embar 
rassment. 

"Yes,"  prompted  Miss  Maggie  eagerly.  "Yes!" 

"Well,  unless —  I  let  you  take  me  to  Hillerton  one 
of  these  days  and  see  if  —  if  Stanley  G.  Fulton,  with 
your  gracious  help,  can  make  peace  for  John  Smith 
with  those  —  er  —  cousins  of  mine.  You  see,  I  still 
feel  confoundedly  like  that  small  boy  at  the  keyhole, 
and  I'd  like —  to  open  that  door!  Could  we  do  it, 
do  you  think?" 

"Do  it?  Of  course  we  could!  And,  oh,  Stanley, 
it's  the  one  thing  needed  to  make  me  perfectly  happy," 
she  sighed  blissfully. 


THE   END 


(fcbe  fltoertfbe 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .  0  .  A 


THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

By  Eleanor  H.  Porter 

Author  of  "  Oh,  Money  !   Money  !"    "Just  David,"   "  Pollyanna,"  etc. 

"The  best  book  that  Mrs.  Porter  has  ever  writ 
ten."  —  Chicago  News. 

"  Splendidly  constructed  and  full  of  excellent 
character  study.  A  charming  little  tale,  full  of 
youth  and  love  and  the  eternal  struggle  of  trying 
to  get  at  the  secrets  of  life." — Book  News  Monthly. 

"The  very  best  of  the  many  admirable  stories 
by  Eleanor  H.  Porter,  a  tale  full  of  meaning  to 
every  married  couple;  moving  swiftly  and  drama 
tically  and  holding  the  attention  closely  on  every 
page."  —  1"he  Christian  Endeavor  World. 

"A  genuinely   human   and    lovable   story."  — 

New  Tork  ^Tribune. 

Illustrated.    $1.40  net 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


JUST  DAVID 


By  Eleanor  H.  Porter 

Author  of  "  Oh,  Money  !    Money  !"    "The  Road  to  Understanding," 
"  Pollyanna,"  etc. 

JUST  DAVID  is  a  happy,  wholesome  story, 
with  a  message  of  courage  and  inspiration  for 
every  reader. 

"JUST  DAVID  is  exquisite  in  every  detail 
and  will  do  any  one  good  to  read  it." — Christian 
Observer. 

"JUST  DAVID  will  be  read  with  gladness 
and  gratitude  by  men  and  women  who  need  in 
spiration."  —  Continent. 

"JUST  DAVID  is  delightful  in  every  way; 
the  best  story  in  many  respects  that  Mrs.  Porter 
has  written."  —  Zion's  Herald. 

Illustrated.    $1.35  net 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


I  "  - 

,te'v 


NON-RE 

APR  271932 

His  IVvfo? 
DUE  2  MS  FROM  DATE 


•  -~  —.— 


RE:  .  :D 


NO^-RFNF 

liU^i    tit,  I  IE. 


JUL  19 


DUE  2  WKS  FROM  D/TE  RECEIVED 


1999 


UC  SOUT 


000118560     2 


